


Learning a Heart

by CosmicOcelot



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit depiction of sex, Jealousy, M/M, Oblivious Julian Bashir, Possessive Behavior, Romance, due to mind whammie, idiots being idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-11-24 18:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18168452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicOcelot/pseuds/CosmicOcelot
Summary: Begins at the Bajoran Gratitude Festival, except instead of Kira and Julian getting whammied by the Betazoid fever at the same time, Garak and Julian do. Afterwords, Julian struggles to deal with the fall out and understand just what this simple tailor means to him.





	1. Chapter 1

_Why me?_

More than once, Julian has caught himself wondering this, drifting off in the middle of briefings with the rest of the COs, daydreaming his way through another rote  article pushed out by yet another colleague, staring off into space while waiting for his lunch partner to arrive.

Why of all the Starfleet officers, of all the people on the station, had Garak decided to ally with him?

Normally it was posed more along the lines of a philosophical question, as he finally let his mind free to race along the different statistical avenues of thought that he made sure to tamp down on in his other lines of thinking; especially when that thinking was done out loud.

Now however, it was an exasperated plea to God.

“And just why, precisely, my dear doctor, should I be lowering my voice?”

Julian quickly glances around at the plethora of robed Gratitude festival-goers, making sure Garak’s loud voice has failed to draw attention to the pair of them. And while the throng of different coloured robes and sparkle of dangly earrings remains ubiquitous around them, he breathes a sigh of relief to note that so does the lack of dagger-like looks. And then takes a moment to wonder, not for the first time, whether Cardassians had _any_ sense of self-preservation.

He turns back to Garak, raising an eyebrow. “Perhaps because of the multitude of people the content of your voice is likely to offend.” He inclines his head not so subtly as an attempt to remind his apparently newly blind friend of their surroundings.

Instead, Garak adopts a familiar twin expression of faux shock and indignation, the twinkle in his eyes the only clue that he’s enjoying this all too much. “Isn’t Free Speech a staple of The Federation, doctor? I can’t imagine that any officer of Starfleet would deny me my right to express my humble opinion.”

“Oh neither Starfleet nor the Federation would dare impinge on your rights, Garak. However, my concern is the Bajoran fists that would dare impinge on your nose.” Julian counters dryly.

Garak waves a hand dismissively, ignoring a particularly sharp look from a Bajoran couple leaving the temple. “Well, that is always a concern when you have a nose that looks like mine, my dear doctor. However, if I let that guide my decision of when to engage in simple conversation, then I would never speak at all.”

Despite himself, Julian casts his own look of faux shock at Garak. “And leave me bereft of the comfort of your arguments and quick wit? Perish the thought.”

“Mm, yes I know the very idea must pain you immeasurably, my dear.” Garak smiles at him and Julian can’t help but return it. “Rest assured, I don’t plan to deprive you of my dulcet tones anytime soon.”

Julian shakes his head with a little laugh, a bit of the tension seeping from his shoulders. “I’ll thank my lucky stars for that.”

“So long as you only do so verbally and don’t burn them.” Garak snips, nose elevated up in the air a bit as he watches a women with a quite obvious brown wig drop several rolls of paper into the cleansing fire.

Julian rolls his eyes, a bit of that exasperation rolling back into him. “Ah yes; Of course, I’m sure Cardassia has no tradition nearly as wasteful.”

Knowing them, they probably had a tradition of avoiding superfluous tradition, or maybe even giving up celebrations for the sake of the state the same way that their literary heroes gave up lovers and family members. It reminds Julian of the conversation they had after he leant Garak a copy of 415 Degrees Fahrenheit.

_“Well, frankly, my dear doctor, I found it to be a very unsatisfying end. The villain of the story escaped justice, and what’s more, he let some poor midnight stroller take the fall instead of him. Which, I’m fairly certain, makes it not only a very unsatisfying ending by Cardassian standards, but also contrary to some of those Federation beliefs that Starfleet keeps harping on about.”_

“I think you’ll find that most desert dwellers hate the casual, blatant misuse of resources positively rampant on lush, water soaked worlds like yours.” Garak replies evenly, bringing Julian out of his reverie in time to notice the tailor turning gracefully towards him; resting a hand gently on his shoulder. “But, as a favor to you, my dear, I will deign not to mention that to the lovely lady approaching us now; lest her companion throw us in a cell for the night.”

Julian turns to follow Garak’s line of sight as the hand drops from his shoulder, eyes lighting up when he spots the couple approaching them. “Ah, hello again Ambassador Troi, Odo, enjoying the festivities?”

Odo looks as though he would rather be existing as a glass of tarkalean tea; however Ambassador Troi, currently clinging to the shape-shifter's arm, looks to be experiencing enough enjoyment for the both of them.

“Doctor,” Odo grinds out in greeting, before gesturing to Garak at his side. “Ambassador, you're already acquainted with Dr. Bashir, and this is the station's tailor, Mr. Garak. Garak," Odo's eyes hold an unspoken warning, "this is Lwaxana Troi, the Federation Ambassador from Betazoid."

“A pleasure to meet you.”Ambassador Troi chirps happily, glancing around at the festivities gleefully. “Oh, isn’t it all so wonderful? Such a festive occasion.”

“Yes, we were just discussing that as well.” Garak replies, but before Julian can even think to shoot him a stern look, he continues. “It’s so wonderful to see the Bajoran people reclaiming their culture and expressing it openly once more.”

Ambassador Troi smiles brightly at Garak. “I must say it is surprising and refreshing to find a Cardassian who feels that way, Mr. Garak.”

“Oh, my dear Ambassador,” Garak places a hand on his chest, looking down at her with eyes swimming in understanding, “all through the occupation, I felt the Bajorans deserved their independence from Cardassia. Which as you can imagine, did not make me all that popular on my home-world, hence why I chose to remain on the station after.”

“I didn't realize _that_ was why you stayed, Garak.” Odo stares at Garak, practically daring him to continue the façade.

Garak looks genuinely shocked, but Julian’s eyes catch that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “My dear Odo, why else would I remain on this station after all my people had otherwise departed?”

“Why indeed?” Julian raises an eyebrow at Garak, and has to stop himself from smiling when he sees the corners of Garak’s lips twitch upwards ever so slightly.

Ambassador Troi smiles at the two of them. “Well, I’m sure the presence of an... _unstereeotypical_ Cardassian  will go a long way in repairing Cardassia and Bajor relations in the future.” She gestures behind her. “Are you two headed to the temple to participate in the festival?”

Julian shakes his head. “Ah, no, actually, we were just headed back to Garak’s shop to grab some lunch together.”

“It appears we rather underestimated the appeal of celebrating the festival on the Emissary’s space station.” Garak smiles ruefully at the Ambassador as he delivers what may be the understatement of the Stardate.

“Ah, of courses; well, perhaps we’ll see the two of you at Commander Sisko’s later—”Ambassador Troi breaks off with a grimace, pressing her fingers to her temples and rubbing slightly.

Julian steps forward immediately, carefully placing his hands onAmbassador Troi's shoulders and looking her over.

“Madame ambassador, are you alright?”

“Mm, yes, just got a little twinge there for a moment, doctor, no need to cause a fuss.”Ambassador Troi  waves him off and Julian releases her, stepping back.

“Well, if you’re certain—”

“Perhaps a drink of water and a short rest might help.” Odo looks at Julian, who gives a slight nod of confirmation, before gingerly beginning to direct the two of them towards Quark’s.

“Oh, Odo, really, that’s not necessary.”Ambassador Troi  tuts at him but seems pleased with the attention, pulling back on him only for a moment to address them one last time. “Sorry to rush off; it was a pleasure seeing you again, doctor, and to meet you, Mr. Garak.”

“The pleasure, my dear ambassador, was all ours.” Garak replies, inclining his head slightly and smiling, Julian joining in with him; the two of them waiting until Ambassador Troi  has turned back around and the pair have disappeared into the crowds before resuming their own walk down the promenade.

“I must say, it does pay to have you as a friend, doctor; I get to meet some very interesting people.” Garak remarks as they finally reach his shop, slipping through and locking the door behind them. For some reason, no one is all that interested in buying clothes from a Cardassian today.

“You mean you get to _lie_ to some very interesting people.” Julian counters, rapping his knuckles gently along the main counter absentmindedly. He woke up too late today to grab anything to eat before his shift started, and his stomach threatens to rumble atrociously at the mere thought of food.

Garak turns, pausing slightly on his way to replicator before arching an eyebrow at him, a smirk playing along the corners of his lips. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, my dear, that on Cardassia those are one and the same.”

Julian’s brows furrow in confusion. “What is the point of lying to a complete stranger?”

Garak’s smirk remains. “What’s the point of telling the truth?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Julian sighs, leaning up against the main counter, “simplicity?”

“A very uninteresting state of being, my dear; or at least that's what I’ve found.” Garak pushes a couple of buttons and the replicator beeps to life, albeit with a minor splutter. Julian makes a note to ask Miles to send someone to have a look at it while Garak places their orders.

“To be honest, Garak, I don’t know that I’d like to live in such a web of complexity at all times.” Julian shakes his head. “It sounds like rather a lot to be constantly keeping track of; what if you forget _what_ you’ve lied about to _who?_ ”

“That’s the whole _thrill_ of it, my dear.” Garak picks up the tray and makes his way back over towards Julian, who pulls down the table and chairs stowed away in the shop’s bulkhead. “The delicate art of subterfuge, conducted under the ever present threat of discovery; now _that_ keeps your mind sharper than anything those number puzzles Chief O’Brien keeps going on about could ever do.”

He hands Julian his glass of Tarkalean tea and Cornish pasty, before taking his own seat and digging into his zabu stew.

“And I imagine you know more about that than most Cardassians.” Julian forgoes the eyebrow raise that would normally accompany his words for a huge bite of his pasty, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head at the warm feeling that spreads through him as he eats.

Garak wags a finger at him, but for a shorter period of time than that such movement would normally be from him in favor of grabbing another spoonful of stew; and Julian feels a little less wrong-footed about what is shaping up to be the inhalation of his own meal.

“Not so, doctor, after all I am just—”

“Plain, simple, Garak.” Julian finishes, shooting him a smile.

“I was going to say ‘a tailor’, Garak corrects, contrary to the last, “despite whatever notions that your friends in Starfleet and the Bajoran militia might be encouraging in you.”

Julian’s gaze doesn’t waver from Garak’s. “Of course.”

Garak smirks at him, opening his mouth—before stopping abruptly with a slight wince, almost too minute and too quick to be noticed.

“Garak?” Julian is out of his chair and pulling a mini scanner out of his pocket before either of them can blink. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my dear, just a slight—twinge is all.” Garak waves him off. “Now stop fussing and finish your meal before— ** _Doctor,_** put that dratted beeping thing away and sit down.”

Julian reluctantly switches the scanner off, still hovering. “You’re sure you’re alright? I don’t want to find out later that you downplayed it and have to confine you to sickbay again.”

“I assure you, my dear, I’m right as rain; now, please.” Garak barely holds back an eye roll as he gestures towards the remains of Julian’s rapidly cooling meal.

Julian holds his gaze for a moment more before relenting, making his way back to his chair—

Only to stumble halfway as a sharp spike of pain lights up his temples, hand flailing out and catching the edge of the table to support himself.

“Doctor?”

Julian winces, struggling to run through the possibilities amid the pain. “I’m fine, Garak; I’m afraid I forgot to eat breakfast this morning and the change in my blood sugar and pressure just now must’ve been a bit too rapid for my body to handle.”

That sounds...right--possible--but not quite it. He feels dizzy, and his vision swims in and out of focus for a moment before sliding back into place with a couple of blinks.

“Julian.”

Julian lifts his head to see Garak standing next to him, briefly wondering if Cardassians have some sort of super stealth that he wasn’t aware of; given the mountain of obscurities and lies that they seemingly sustain themselves on, it isn’t that far out of the realm of possibilities.

“Now who's fussing?”

“I believe it’s the person who doesn’t appear to be in immediate danger of fainting.” Garak’s dry voice is quite close to his ear, close enough that Julian can feel his breath on the back of his neck; his hair standing up in response as a soft tingle spreads along his spine. Garak’s hand is on his shoulder, his grip gentle but firm, ready to support him should whatever is affecting his head spread to his knees.

Julian tries to wave him off. “I’m fine, Garak, I just—my body just needs a moment to catch up.”

“Perhaps it’s my turn to confine you to sickbay.” And as that grip on his shoulder tightens, he feels his mouth and throat go dry as heat creeps up his face. 

He lets out a rough chuckle, licking his lips to try and remedy the dryness as he shifts his body so the two of them are face to face. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Would you?”

It feels like Garak is closer than he’s ever been, and for the first time Julian is keenly aware of the lack of heat that Garak emits; every scrap of that molecular energy kept safe within him. Julian’s body, however, seems to be emitting heat in waves that he can practically see, perhaps because of the fire sparking to life within his abdomen, the air between the two of them practically shimmering with it. He wonders briefly if Garak can see it.

Garak moves his hand from Julian’s shoulder, his fingertips traversing along his collarbone to his throat, his fingers just cupping the side of his neck while his thumb gently strokes the underside of his jaw.

Julian brings a hand up to cup his cheek, tracing the raised ridges framing the blue eyes currently locked on him, and Garak’s grip on his throat tightens. And for all the lack of heat on the surface of Garak’s skin, his eyes tell Julian that lingering just beneath is a freezing flame to match the inferno spreading throughout him.

“Doctor.” A question, through framed as anything but.

“Garak,” Julian tips his face upwards, so that his next words are breathed against Garak’s lips.

“Plain, simple, Garak.”

And then he presses their lips together.

Garak’s mouth is cool against his own, and there’s a desperate desire blooming throughout Julian’s being to share the heat pulsing in his veins with him; to warm him up like the rays of the desert sun. And so he presses himself harder against Garak, other hand reaching up to pull at the front of the tailor’s shirt, and in any other instance a smile would be spreading along his lips at the thought of Garak glaring at him later with indignation over stretch marks in one of his shirts.

The pressure at his throat disappears and then Julian is being spun around and shoved against the nearest wall, and for a moment he wonders if he’s about to get yelled at about the stretch marks after all, but then his hands are being pinned in place and his gaze is locked on the reptilian one staring back at him. His mouth parts slightly to ask, or maybe beg, he isn’t quite sure, but before any sound can slip past his lips Garak is surging forward, pressing their mouths together again. This time harder and harsher and Julian meets him with a keen hunger, trading the ghost of teeth and the warm slide of tongue.

“Doctor,” Garak pulls back, nearly drawing a moan of protest from Julian as he does so, his eyes flickering up to meet Julian’s.

Julian tilts his head to the side in a way he hasn’t used on anybody for far too long, frustration building into a desperate itch just under his skin.

_“Please.”_

With something close to a hiss, Garak is pressing their mouths together again, his grip on Julian’s wrist tightening and Julian is moaning between the ebb and flow of their meeting lips.

Then, with a twist of his wrists, Julian slips from Garak’s grasp and pushes Garak and himself away from the wall, keeping them close with a hand fisted in the Cardassian’s shirt; only letting go for a moment to tug his own off and toss it gracelessly away. Garak’s eyes rove over his skin hungrily and Julian finds himself shivering at the look, moving again to continue pushing the two of them towards the nearest dressing room.

Once through the red curtains, Garak retakes control, pushing Julian up against the mirror wall, and tearing off his own shirt and pants in a way that no tailor with any respect for the craft would be caught dead doing; Julian clumsily kicking off his own pants to join him. Once free, he looks up and finds himself caught in Garak's eyes, watching at they rove over him as the Cardassian moves slowly yet steadily closer. He presses himself up against Julian until the doctor is sure that Garak can feel the rapid beating of his heart as though it was his own. He dips his head to nuzzle Julian’s neck, his hands moving up his back as Julian does the same, tracing the ridges and scales as Garak traces the lack thereof on him.

“Beautiful.” Garak murmurs into his neck, and Julian has scarcely a moment to let the words and the honeyed warmth they carry with them sink in before Garak is biting his neck, drawing an obscene moan from Julian’s parted lips. Julian presses the two of them closer together as Garak alternates between sucking and biting up and down his neck and shoulders, catching the underside of his jaw once of twice and Julian just knows he’s going to be _deliciously_ sore when this is all over.

He reaches a hand upwards and tugs at Garak’s hair, bringing the man’s head back up and nearly melts entirely at the heat brimming within them, pressing their lips together once more before quickly ducking out of the kiss and landing a nip of his own on Garak’s shoulder ridges.

The reaction is immediate, Garak letting out a deep moan that sends thrills up Julian’s spine and further strokes the heat between the two of them. His hands catch Julian’s and shove them up above his head, and Julian smirks at him in return, enjoying the feel of Garak's cool skin pressed so closely against his own overheated skin—

And then lets out a low moan of pleasure as Garak’s hand grips him tightly, moving up and down in a rhythmic motion that sends tingles running along the base of his spine as he rocks his hips to keep up.

“It seems dangerous to keep such a…sensitive area out in the open.” Garak breathes into his ear and Julian swallows down the moan about to spill from his lips after a particular nice twist of Garak’s wrist.

“Not the Cardassian way…I take it?” Julian raises an eyebrow slightly at Garak before glancing down at Garak’s crotch, watching in fascination as a scaled covering opens, freeing Garak’s own dick; which looks just as excited as his own.

“No, but I must confess, I don’t find it…unconscionable.” Garak murmurs, tightening his grip once more and ripping another moan from Julian’s lips, the doctor throwing his head back.

“I can always just take my “conscionable” and leave you here.” Julian returns, once the breath is back in his lungs, but his legs are way past the point of movement and it would take a force greater than his pride to get him to stop fucking into Garak’s closed hand.

Garak doesn’t seem to be aware of that somehow, letting go just long enough to flip Julian around so that his stomach is pressed against the mirror, before catching his wrists and holding them fiercely in place; dipping his head to bite more marks into Julian’s neck and back.

“I don’t think so, my dear.” Garak’s breath is hot against the back of his neck and Julian presses his lips together in order to prevent the moan from escaping him just at that. “You see, the two of us haven’t quite concluded our business yet.”

Garak releases his wrists in order to pull his hips backwards slightly so Julian is bent over waist with his hands splayed on the mirror, spreading his cheeks slightly and spreading a warm liquid over the doctor’s asshole. And then Julian feels the blunt press of something against it and—

“Oh.” He breathes, as Garak presses into him slowly, stretching him out and filling him so—so good—to the point where his toes are curling into the dressing room carpet.

Garak pulls back on his hips a little more, ensuring that he’s as far in as he can possibly be, tracing a finger down Julian’s back as he just waits; balls deep in Julian and he’s just not _moving_ and Julian _needs_ —

“Move.” Julian breathes, trying to shift back and forth on Garak’s dick himself only to be held in place by Garak’s hands. “ _Move_ , Garak, please, for fuck’s sake move—”

Garak pulls back and slams forward in Julian with enough force to knock all the air out of his lungs, forcing a drawn-out moan past his lips as he continues with the unrelenting pace; knocking Julian’s head against the mirror slightly with every thrust, Julian too far lost in the rhythm of pleasure to care, the feel of Garak moving within him the closest thing to ecstasy that he’s ever felt. And he can feel the wave building within him, growing higher and higher until—

Garak’s hand tightens painfully around his cock and Julian nearly smacks him.

“Ah, ah, ah, doctor.” Garak’s normally composed tone is beyond strained and his perfectly kempt hair is a mess of black strands. “Not yet, I have a question for you first.”

“What?” Julian growls out, though it turns into a moan when Garak delivers another bite to his shoulder.

Turning his head slightly so that his nose is pressed against the side of Julian’s neck, Garak murmurs his question into Julian’s ear. “Has anyone else ever had you like quite this?”

Garak’s voice is low and deep and sends tingles running along Julian’s spine, his dick twitching in Garak’s grip, and the first word that comes to his mind is _“no, no one’s ever had me like this, had me wanting them so badly, wanting every part of them pressed against me, around me, consuming me and I would give anything in the world for you to please please just **move** —”_

But then comes the part of him that refuses to fully acquiesce; that wants to argue and be contrary, to push back at Garak just to see what’ll happen.

So Julian smirks, turning to look at Garak so that their lips are a hairsbreadth apart.

“I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”

Something dark and new crosses Garak’s expression and a hand grabs a fistful of Julian’s hair and tugs his head backwards, his dick throbbing at the treatment. “I won’t ask again, Julian.”

Julian meets his gaze evenly. “And I won’t answer.”

Garak tightens his grip for a moment, before letting go with a snarl, and instead utilizing his bruising grip on Julian’s hips as he begins an utterly punishing pace; a scream building in Julian’s throat as white hot pleasure surges along his veins. It only takes a few more thrusts before Julian feels himself crescendo, releasing the scream as the orgasm rips through him, Garak continuing the pace and fucking him through it as he shivers and shakes before his own hips stutter and the grip on Julian’s hips tighten before releasing.

They stay like that for a moment, just breathing through the aftershocks, before Garak slips out of Julian and the two carefully, gingerly, slide down to the floor, Garak pulling Julian back so that he’s pressed up against his chest. Julian lets his head loll back and rest on Garak’s shoulder as he tries to get air back into his lungs. Garak’s hands run along Julian’s arms softly while Julian gently strokes the inside of Garak’s legs; neither one of them willing to part from the other.

And then Julian’s COM badge sparks to life in the other room.

_“Dr. Bashir?”_

Julian groans, forcing himself to fight past the overwhelming urge to stay curled up against Garak, and starts to push himself forwards—

Only to be held in place by Garak’s arms tightening around him.

Julian twists as much as he can to try and catch a glimpse of Garak’s face, only to find that it’s pressed up against his back and obscured from view. “Garak, my COM badge—”

“Leave it.” Garak’s voice sounds strange, different from anything that Julian has heard before.

_“Bashir?”_

Julian shakes his head. “I can’t just leave it, Garak, I’ve got to—”

“There are other doctors, Julian.” Garak cuts him off, tightening his grip on him. “You’re not _theirs_ right now—”

_“Julian, respond.”_

Julian frowns, fighting against both Garak’s grip and the increasingly insistent urge to just curl himself around Garak and never move. “I’m a— _Starfleet Doctor_ —I am always theirs—”

Garak hisses against the back of his neck and his grip is now so tight that Julian is struggling to breathe just a bit. “ _No_.”

“Garak—” Julian starts in warning, but is cut off by the loud blast of phaser fire, Garak’s grip slackening immediately as he slumps down behind him.

Julian looks to the door, scrambling for his pants when he sees just who has stunned Garak.

“Doctor.” Odo inclines his head at him, still pointing the phaser at Garak. “Apologies, but we have somewhat of a medical emergency.”

* * *

After Ambassador Troi has been treated and the news of what happened has thoroughly disseminated throughout the station, Julian waits four more days for good measure before attempting to seek out Garak.

He tells himself he’s not avoiding him, spending all the time outside his quarters holed up inside the Sick-Bay, reading and re-reading articles for potential research projects that he always told himself he’d look into. That this way he’ll be seeing Garak just in time for their usual weekly luncheon, so it won’t look like he’s forcing Garak to talk to him out of their ordinary cycle of association. And by then, the bite marks on his neck, shoulders, back, and hand shaped bruises on his wrist will have to have mostly faded.

But even within the confines of his mind the arguments ring hollow.

When he finally does seek out Garak, he finds him in his shop, having what looks to be less of a friendly argument with a customer and more of what is quickly developing into a full out row.

 _“For goodness sakes_ , I don’t know how much clearer I can be, Ensign, does Starfleet not screen its recruits for hearing difficulties before allowing them to join?” Garak is practically shooting daggers at the Ensign, daring him to respond.

Ensign Grey frowns, his whole face twisting up in a rather unattractive way. “I don’t see why it’s so difficult for you to accommodate a simple—”

“Despite whatever rumors you may have heard, my powers of persuasion are rather limited and do not include the ability to persuade the Tarkalean Ministry of Commerce to sell Tarkala Silk at a price that would allow me to make you a pair of pants from it for only _three strips of Latinum_.”

“You made a suit of the stuff for Bashir! And I know for the fact that whatever Latinum that little show off gets he spends on a holosuite at Quark’s with O’Brien—”

“Dr. Bashir,” Garak cuts off the Ensign sharply, “did me a great personal favour which the suit was a gift given in gratitude for—”

“Oh I’ll bet he did.”

Garak goes still, something flickering in his eyes akin to the look on his face as he tugged on Julian’s hair, and Julian struggles for a moment to swallow down the memory.

“And just what are you implying, my dear Ensign.” Garak voice is pleasant but it causes the hair on the back of Julian’s neck to stand on edge.

Ensign Grey, however, does not seem to share that problem. “Just that you’d have to be blind on this station not to notice how much time the two of you spend in each other’s…company. And everyone knows that Constable Odo had to come and retrieve _Dr._ Bashir from your shop during the Betazoid… _incident_.”

An ugly, smug smile crosses the Ensign’s face. “Congratulations, word is that you got him to scream; I only managed to make him beg.”

Within seconds, Julian catches the hand holding Garak’s favourite fabric alterer, noting with immense and entirely unprofessional satisfaction the way the colour promptly drains from the Ensigns face.

“You heard Mr. Garak, Ensign, your request isn’t feasible.”

“Dr. Bashir—”

“Now I _suggest_ that you return to your post before I report you to Chief O’Brien and Commander Sisko.” Julian levels the Ensign with an even stare; pinning him in place just long enough for the now shaking officer to give a quick nod before practically sprinting out of Garak’s shop.

Garak keeps his gaze on where the Ensign disappeared for a moment before shifting it to Julian and then down to where the doctor’s hand still gently rests on his own. “Worried I was going to stab him, my dear?”

And Julian can’t say that he saw the way, almost in slow motion, Garak’s fingers tightened around the alterer, his mouth beginning to curl into a snarl, so he lets go of Garak’s wrist with shrug; moving away to sit on a nearby chair. “More like I wanted him to be worried that you were. I thought it might make him leave faster.”

“A desirable end result to be sure.” Garak mutters, smoothing a stray hair back into place, and Julian’s mouth goes momentarily dry remembering the disarray Garak’s hair was in when he was leaning over him, pressing him against a mirror—

Garak turns towards him and Julian tries not to look guilty. “You will, of course, be informing Commander Sisko of this incident, despite what you told the… _Ensign_ , correct?

“I will be informing Chief O’Brien that he was harassing a citizen of this station and making false claims about his relationships, or in this case lack thereof, with senior officers,” Julian is fairly certain he doesn’t imagine the way Garak seems to relax, if only slightly, “and should he bother you again _then_ I will notify Commander Sisko.”

Garak rolls his eyes. “Ah yes, I forgot, second chances are another one of your Federation’s staples; that, and third, fourth and fifth chances.”

“As opposed to the Cardassian way of none at all?” Julian raises an eyebrow slightly at him.

Garak wags a finger at him, chastising. “Not so, Doctor; on Cardassia we give the exact right number of chances.”

“And what number would that be?” Julian asks.

Garak smiles. “One.”

“Hmm.” Julian laughs slightly despite himself, pushing himself back to his feet. “For a desert planet, your world can be awfully frigid when it comes to the concept of forgiveness.”

That startles a surprised laugh out of Garak. “Oh, don’t I know it, my dear. Speaking of forgiveness, “ He ducks into the back room of the shop before quickly reappearing with a shopping bag. “I hope you’ll forgive my lateness in returning these to you, doctor, but once I got a good look at them I couldn’t stop myself from making a few…alterations, if you will.”

Julian reaches into the bag and pulls out his Starfleet uniform, heat crawling up the back of his neck at the memory of how it had ended up in Garak’s possession, before frowning slightly as his hand brushes over the material. “Hang on, this isn’t my uniform—”

“Not exactly,” Garak concedes, “but I think you’ll find this material much more comfortable than the—shall we say ‘ _cloth_ ', for politeness’ sake—that your previous one was made out of.”

Julian looks up at Garak, his hands clutching the—wonderfully soft—material of his new uniform hesitantly. “Thank you, Garak, but you didn’t have to do this—”

“Nonsense, my dear; it was my pleasure to finally get to tear apart one of those god-awful things.” Garak places an arm on his shoulder gently. “And I thought it might…smooth things over between us, as it were.”

Julian pauses, his heart stuttering in his chest. “Garak, we—”

“That Betazoid fever was a nasty bit of business wasn’t it, my dear? I personally find the idea of my control being stripped away rather…abhorrent if you must know. Glad that you managed to sort it out.”

Garak drops his gaze from Julian, going to mark something down in notebook before tidying it away, and it strikes Julian that’s exactly what he’s trying to do with what happened between them. Tidy it away into a neat little locked cupboard that will never be opened again. Julian tries to ignore the ripple of hurt pulsing through him at the thought that what happened between the two of them was so trivial as to be easily shoved aside or forgotten, the matter laid to rest with nothing more that a few stitches and careful words.

Instead, he swallows down the words of protest rising up within him, nodding. “Yes…yes quite right, though a gift isn’t necessary on your part Garak, you did nothing wrong, I was—”

“Please, Doctor, if you don’t mind, I would prefer not to speak about it any further.” Garak cuts him off, his tone bordering on the steelier end of sharp and Julian lets the rest of his words die away instantly.

There is a moment of silence, tension stretching the air taught between the two of them, before Garak turns back to face Julian, an almost hesitant smile aimed his way. “If the new uniform is an issue for you, allow me to pick the place for lunch and we’ll call it even.”

Julian returns the smile, though the motion sends what feels like rocks tumbling down to weigh heavily in his stomach. “Sounds perfectly reasonable to me.”

“Excellent, I do so enjoy being reasonable.” Garak motions towards the door of his shop. “Shall we have that lunch now? I spotted a new Earth restaurant on the promenade this morning that looks promising.”

“I can’t think of a reason why not.” Julian falls into step beside him and the two begin to make their way down to where a myriad of delicious smells are floating towards them from, Garak starting up a discussion about culinary differences between Cardassia and Earth, and Julian struggling to keep his focus on Garak’s words and not the slightly wider than normal space between their bodies.

* * *

“Well, what did you expect, Julian?”

Julian groans and drops his head to their usual table at Quark’s. “I don’t know; a conversation? Or some sort of discussion at least—even an _argument_ —I mean, for God’s sake, Garak once started an argument with me over _colour schemes_. There’s never been anything that he hasn’t wanted to hash out and now this—radio silence—over the biggest thing that’s happened in our relationship? It’s just…so—”

“Normal, for a person to not want to talk about something that embarrasses them?” Jadzia finishes for him, taking a sip of her drink.

Julian shakes his head. “You don’t understand, Jadzia.”

“I understand that people usually don’t want to discuss ill-conceived sexual liaisons, especially if they’re Cardassian.” Jadzia tells him, shaking her own head slightly at his lips pressed together in an almost pout, brow furrowed in consternation.

“But what if—” Julian mumbles the rest of his sentence into his glass.

Jadzia leans closer. “What if what, Julian?”

“What if—” Julian nearly shouts the first part of the sentence; drawing looks from several other patrons in the bar, before lowering his voice slightly to continue, “What if one of them didn’t think it was ill-conceived?”

Jadzia’s face softens. “Oh, Julian.”

“I know, I know—” Julian waves her off, shaking his head. “It’s ridiculous, I mean, nothing that Garak has ever done would ever begin to suggest that he might—and I never stopped to consider it before, at least consciously, but now all I can think about is—”

Jadzia looks at him, eyes soft and full of something far too close to pity, and Julian breaks off with a sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t the…encounter that he disagreed with, but rather the circumstances under which it took place.” Jadzia offers, and seeing Julian look up at her she continues. “Having your inhibitions ripped away can be a frightening thing to a lot of people, and Garak strikes me as the kind of person who values his ability to control things.”

Julian rubs his fingers against the material of his new uniform carefully. “I know, and I know that Garak is just trying to find a way to regain some sense of control, of equilibrium, after what happened and I don’t want to deny him that it’s just—”

“You just wish the two of you could talk about it.” Jadzia finishes for him.

Julian nods, before letting go of his glass; he suddenly feels exposed and raw and the urge to run away that would have been easily curbed three drinks ago is quickly overcoming him. “Well, at least I almost got my wish.”

He forces himself to at least smile at his friend before his legs carry him back to his quarters. “Thank you, Jadzia, for everything, but I better turn in; busy day tomorrow and all that—”

“Julian.” Her voice stops him and he returns his gaze to her all-too-knowing one, briefly wondering just how many times the symbiote has heard the same thing from so many different mouths. “Perhaps it might be helpful for you to get a better understanding of Cardassian culture, and then maybe you could try to broach the subject in a way that’s comfortable for the both of you.”

Julian frowns. “It’s a nice idea, Jadzia, but the only expert on Cardassian culture here can be infuriatingly vague on the subject of anything that isn’t art, literature or politics.”

“So find another expert.” Jadzia tells him firmly, “Cardassia is always looking for opportunities to send their people here on ‘joint projects’ and requesting ambassadorial invitations; you just have to wait for your chance and take it.”

Julian stares at her for a moment before smiling slightly, this time a far more genuine one than before. “I get the feeling you’re becoming rather invested in this.”

“It beats waiting for Rom to stand up to Quark.” Jadzia shrugs before making a shooing motion with her hands. “Now, off to bed, youngster, as I recall you have quite the busy day tomorrow.”

Julian holds up his hands in surrender with a laugh before making his way out of Quarks and down to his quarters, his smile only fading when he finds himself lying on his back and staring at his ceiling; remembering the feel of Garak’s grip on his wrists and wondering just how long he’d have to wait for his chance.

* * *

“I’m afraid that I just don’t understand it.”

Julian raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. “And just what, precisely, is it that confuses you?”

“Why bother with such a heavy, burdensome trinket?” Garak shakes his head as the Bajoran woman laughs into her lover’s kiss before allowing them to snap the betrothal bracelet into place around her wrist, to the applause and jubilant calls of the rest of the restaurant. “It can’t be comfortable to go through daily activities with a huge lump of metal around your wrist.”

Julian takes another sip of his tea, struggling not to let the fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips spread. “I assume the benefits of being able to display such an item outweigh the burdens that come with it.”

“Don't tell me that you support such an unwieldy declaration of monogamy.” Garak turns back to look at Julian almost accusingly.

Julian shrugs, un-phased. “I doubt that it’s unwieldy enough for me to have any serious medical concerns over it, and as long as that’s true I really can’t think of a problem I could have with it. And besides, humans have been exchanging rings for thousands of years and we’ve survived.”

“No matter how much they may clash with an outfit.” Garak sniffs, casting the couple one more derisive glance.

Julian can’t keep the smile at bay this time. “Oh, and once again, I suppose the Cardassian solution is much more elegant.”

“Indeed.” Garak says, smiling back at Julian, “Nothing so unwieldy as the Bajoran’s and nothing so eye-catching and theft-worthy as the human's.”

Julian’s heart flutters slightly in a way that he should examine as soon as possible once he returns to Sick Bay, and he finds himself gesturing impatiently for his first tidbit of Cardassian _social_ culture. “And this incredible customary item is?”

“Patience, my dear,” Garak holds up a hand, a devious smirk overtaking his smile. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Disappointment, though not surprise, thrums through him and Julian sighs, slumping back into his chair. “Have you never heard that withholding information is the very essence of tyranny?”

“Now _that_ sounds like a statement straight out of a Federation guidebook.” Garak takes another bite of his curry, clearly savoring the taste. “How your people can have such wonderful culinary exploits but fall so short when it comes to using information to your advantage is nothing short of a miracle, my dear.”

Julian opens his mouth to respond, only for his COM badge to beat him to it.

“ _Dr. Bashir_.” Kira’s voice comes through loud and clear.

He taps the badge on his chest reluctantly. “Bashir, here.”

_“Commander Sisko is requesting your presence in his office.”_

“Understood, I’m on my way.” He taps the badge off and sends Garak an apologetic smile as he stands. “I’m sorry to have to cut our lunch short, Garak.”

Garak waves his apologies away. “Nonsense, my dear, none of us can avoid the call of duty.” He gestures for the waiter to wrap up his food to go. “I’ve some plans for new outfits that I need to look over if I want to release them next week anyway.”

“Well now you’ve caught my attention; any chance I might be convinced to dispense with my other uniforms?” Julian teases.

Garak lets out a long-suffering sigh betrayed by the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “One can only hope, my dear doctor.”

Julian laughs before giving one last wave and heading towards the turbolift, catching himself absentmindedly playing with the material of his new uniform as he does so.

Kira nods at him briefly when he reaches Ops, her face tight and her eyes tired, clearly still rowing with Bareil over what happened with Ambassador Troi and he feels a sharp pulse of sympathy for her, resolving to mention to Dax that perhaps she could use some cheering up; having continuous stress from both their duties on the station and their personal lives isn’t a good combo for any officer’s mental health.

He returns the nod, not breaking stride as he makes his way to the Captain’s door and presses the intercom button.

“Come in.”

The doors slide open with a familiar swish to reveal a very unfamiliar sight.

Sisko sits behind the desk, radiating a calm steady presence, ever the rock in the sea, be it stormy or steady. But seated across from him is the office’s former occupant, with the same smug grin and air of assumed superiority that he always has.

Gul Dukat nods at Julian as he comes in “Hello, Doctor,” and looks remarkably more composed than the last time Julian saw him; panicking when his own bravado had gotten him trapped on his former space station as a computer droned out its countdown to destruction.

The other unfamiliarity in the room is the Cardassian sitting next to him, who stares at Julian in open and unabashed curiosity and Julian barely suppresses the urge to check if he spilled some of his lunch on his shirt.

“Gul Dukat.” Julian nods in reply before returning his gaze to Sisko. “Commander, Major Kira said that you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, Doctor.” Sisko gestures toward the pair opposite him. “You are, of course, already acquainted with Gul Dukat, but allow me to introduce his companion, Dr. Nahar, from the Cardassian Science Ministry.”

The man in question stands and extends a hand towards Julian, offering him a sure and easy smile, but surprisingly without the edge that he’s seen similar such expressions contain. “I’ve read a great deal about you, Doctor, your record is very impressive.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Julian replies, taking the hand and shaking it. “I confess, you’ve caught me unawares, not many Cardassian articles make it to Federation licensed publications; as a result, my knowledge of Cardassian literature is more…restricted to the fictional variety.”

“A terrible oversight on our part, my dear doctor,” Dukat interjects before Dr. Nahar’s mouth can even begin to construct a reply, and Julian is sure he doesn’t imagine the way that Nahar holds himself carefully in place, as though trying not to smell like meat with a lion pacing behind him. “One I’ll be sure to correct upon my return.”

Something in the way Dukat utters the words _"my dear doctor",_ ripples through Julian’s head like a warning, the stress and tonal placement so familiar it raises the hair on his arms.

“Well, that certainly would be a wonderful step in exchanging knowledge.” Julian nods respectfully at Dukat, struggling to keep images of stolen children, blistering burnt hands, and men being vaporized, at bay. With less than a half-moment’s pause, he turns his attention back to Dr. Nahar. “So, what brings you here, Doctor?”

“Dr. Nahar has come to conduct preliminary tests in order to gather data for developing a communications array. One that will be used to allow communications to pass through the wormhole.” Sisko arches an eyebrow at Dukat as though waiting for him to chip in with some superiority-complex-laden line.

And Gul Dukat does not disappoint. “Yes, the first joint venture between the new and old owners of Terok Nor since the peace treaty between Cardassia and Bajor.”

“Hopefully the first of many.” Sisko returns evenly and the corners of Gul Dukat’s mouth pull down ever so slightly at the commander’s near ever present unflappability; Julian however doesn’t bother to stop his own lips as they turn upwards into a small smile.

Julian turns back to the other doctor observing these two titans with him; there is no trace of alarm in his expression, only that unbridled curiosity from before. He shakes his head slightly before drawing the other’s attention back to him. “Well if that’s the case, Dr. Nahar, I wish you luck; though I’m afraid I won’t be much use to you in this field.” He gives the man a conspiratorial wink. “Not that kind of doctor, you see; although I’m sure Commander Dax and Chief O’Brien would be more than happy to—”

“Oh, no, Dr. Bashir, you misunderstand—” Dukat stands up and makes his way over to where the two doctors are standing “—Dr. Nahar has already been assured the full support of… _Deep Space Nine_ ’s science and engineering team in his work.”

“You will be his ambassador to the station for the time being.” Sisko tells him, staying behind the desk but his position is too carefully lax for Julian to feel unsafe with Dukat’s hovering shadow behind him. “Cardassian Central Command, at the urging of Gul Dukat, has specifically requested you to perform this role.”

Gul Dukat’s smile reminds Julian of a well-fed snake. “Well, no offense, Commander, but judging by what I’ve seen on my last few visits to this station, and knowing that you have the good opinion of my—” Dukat’s hand lands on Julian’s shoulder, heavy and with a grip so tight that it borders on painful, “— _dear friend_ Mr. Garak; you seemed the most equipped out of all to entrust one of our beloved citizens to, doctor.”

“Well…thank you for the honour, Gul Dukat.” Julian manages to say, hiding the wince threatening to show on his face, quickly regaining control in order to direct a warm smile towards Dr. Nahar. “Rest assured, I’ll show you the best that DS9 has to offer.”

Dr. Nahar nods graciously and smiles at Julian, seemingly unaware that Dukat is doing his damndest to break Julian’s collarbone. “Thank you, doctor.”

“I knew we could count on you, doctor. Now,” The pressure on his shoulder disappears along with Dukat’s hand, “if neither of you object, I will accompany Dr. Nahar to his quarters so that I can ascertain whether or not there are any adjustments that need to be made.”

He nods towards Sisko and turns that skin crawling smile on Julian, the doctor barely managing to hold in a shiver. “Do give my regards to Garak, doctor.”

Julian gives more of a grimace in reply but Dukat barely bothers to look before swaggering out of the room, Dr. Nahar following closely behind with one more nervous nod to Julian and Sisko.

“You know, Commander, when I said I’d be up for more diplomatic assignments I’m not sure this is entirely what I had in mind.” Julian rubs his sore shoulder and turns back to where Sisko’s fingers are steepled under his chin thoughtfully.

“It is…an interesting situation, isn’t it?” Sisko returns Julian’s gaze, and he realizes that the Commander has as many questions, if not more, about what happened than he does. “Have you any idea what may have prompted it?”

Julian shakes his head. “No, none at all. I mean, you saw him claim my relationship with Garak is what convinced him I’d be most suited to the role but…well…we all know by now that the two of them are nowhere near “friends” so who does he think he’s fooling—?”

“I suspect it’s not a question of who he’s trying to fool, but rather _what_ exactly he’s attempting to accomplish.” Sisko picks up the ball on his desk, rolling it around in his hands. “Be on your guard, doctor; and report back to me every few days.”

“Yes, sir.” Julian moves to leave—

“Oh, and doctor?”

But stops just short of opening the door and turns back to Sisko. “Yes?”

“Perhaps Garak should take a small…vacation for the time being.”

Julian’s blood runs cold. “You think that Dukat would—”

“I think,” Sisko cuts him off calmly, but with an edge of steel, “that we should find out what Dr. Nahar is really doing here as soon as possible.”

Julian forces himself to swallow amid the sudden dryness of his throat. “Yes, sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Nahar and Julian get to know each other, a beloved grumpy Irishman makes his first appearance, Jadzia continues to sass, Garak continues to be Garak and Sisko contemplates a potential problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, so this chapter is going to be a little shorter than the last because there was a more natural break this way, apologies. Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments! You guys encouraged me to continue writing this :)

“Really, my dear, this whole thing is so very— _unnecessary_.”

Garak repeats what must be his fifteenth variation and iteration of that same sentiment as Julian watches him collect the remainder of his things from the shop; the rest of his bags already packed and waiting by the door.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, doctor, you’re the one forcing me from my lodgings and setting me adrift into the vastness of space; the very least you can do is sit there and listen to me justifiably complain about it.” Garak shoots a look at Julian that has him struggling not to add a smile to his eyeroll offence.

He shakes his head slightly to try and hide the twitching at the corners of his lips, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you know, I think that’s the most pessimistic description of an all-expense paid trip to Vulcan I’ve ever heard.” 

Garak lets out a sigh of frustration, almost a huff really. “It’s not the _cost_ that matters, it’s the _principle_. Being forced to leave just so some _scientist_ can make nice with The Federation.”

“Commander Sisko is _requesting_ you leave so that we can determine whether or not that scientist is a threat to your personal safety.” Julian corrects him. “Cheer up, if he turns out _not_ to be a dark assassin sent to strangle you in your sleep, I’m sure you’ll never let me forget it.”

“No,” Garak picks up his fabric alterer and places it neatly in his sewing bag, “I won’t.”

Julian sighs, standing up and uncrossing his arms before walking over to his grumpy friend. “Look, I’m sorry about all this, Garak, truly. But I agree with Commander Sisko, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“If that’s the case, my dear, why aren’t you coming with me?”

That pulls Julian up short. “What?”

Garak walks around the table, trailing his fingertips along the top, his gaze following his fingers’ path. “If Commander Sisko would rather be safe than sorry, it would make more sense for _both_ people Dukat has attempted to include in whatever little devious, degenerate, but mostly likely _dull_ , drama he has planned, to leave.” Garak pauses, tapping his fingers against the table rhythmically, raising his eyes to meet Julian’s, the sharp light in them giving away whatever he hoped to hide behind the puzzled expression on his face. “It makes no sense in my mind for me to be the only one sent on this little jaunt.”

“That would be because while you are a civilian on this station, Mr. Garak, Dr. Bashir is an officer.” Commander Sisko’s quiet voice comes as the doors swish open to announce his arrival, the two of them turning to face him. “To send him or both of you away would leave us open to criticism from Dukat and thus jeopardize the culture of mutual trust and openness we are attempting to build between Cardassia, The Federation and Bajor.”

“Of course,” Garak nods understandingly, maneuvering around the table and towards Sisko, the slow careful measure of his steps setting off a warning klaxon in Julian’s brain. “So, rather than opening yourselves up to a potential squabble you’ll just leave our dear doctor open to a knife in his back?”

“Garak—” Julian protests but Sisko raises up a hand and he falls silent.

Sisko turns to Garak, fixing him with his calm, steady gaze; if the tailor’s words have affected him in any way, there is no outward sign of it. “I assure you, Mr. Garak, Dr. Bashir’s safety is a top priority in this matter; no less important than yours.”  
  
“Ah,” Garak’s entire being practically radiates contempt, “which is why he’s being forced to stay with the—how did you put it, my dear—‘ _dark assassin_ ’?”

Indignation rises up within Julian and his mouth starts to open before a puzzle piece clicks into place in his mind. He’s seen this side of Garak before - sharp and biting, with words designed to cut to the quick - when the wire implant began to malfunction, and it hits him:

_Garak is afraid._

He forces his heartrate to slow, centering himself before letting his mouth open once more, carefully measuring each word before he lets it fall past his lips.

“Garak,” he moves forward carefully, step by step, purposefully slowing his movements, until he has positioned himself between the Commander and his friend. “I am _choosing_ to stay on this station because I am in a unique position to find out what is going on. Now, I _promise_ you I will be careful and that the moment we have determined whether or not Dr. Nahar poses any sort of threat to you I will contact you immediately. We can even check in once a day and I can tell you exactly what’s happening here, and you can tell me about all the Vulcans you’re talking circles around.”

Garak merely hums, but the stiffness is his shoulders lessens slightly. “Well, if you think I’m going to be talking circles around the Vulcans you must have more faith in my negotiating skills than I do, my dear.”

“Oh, come now, Garak.” Julian smiles, soft, kind, and just a little bit teasingly. “We all know you’ll have finished negotiations for your fabric deal within a day and will spend the rest of the week wandering around loudly critiquing Vulcan architecture, literature, and art to anyone who will listen.”

“Rest assured, my dear, I’ll be sure to save my opinions on such things for your ears only, so you’d better study up before our chats.” He places a hand on Julian’s shoulder, though it seems just a bit tighter than usual. “Do me a favor, don’t get yourself strangled while I’m away? It would make lunch ever so boring.”

Julian places his own hand on top of Garak’s, curling his fingers around it ever so slightly. “I promise to be here to entertain you when you return.”

Garak’s eyes meet his, and for a moment Julian feels caught in them, as though some part of each of them is trying to tether the other to them; a flicker of that freezing flame from all those weeks ago evident in those discerning blue eyes.

Eventually, Garak pulls his hand away, and Julian feels the heat rush back into the area where it rested.

“Well, then, Commander,” Garak addresses Sisko, “now that everything is settled, I take it you’ll be escorting me to my shuttle to see that I follow through with this little plan of yours?”

Sisko smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. Doctor, our guest is waiting for an escort from his quarters to his work station.”

“Right away, Sir.” Julian nods, following the two of them out of the store and parting from them with one final glance; focusing his attention on the task at hand rather than the empty space beside him.

* * *

If Dr. Nahar ( _Please, call my Tanin; and may I call you Julian?_ ) really is some sort of dark assassin, he’s doing a damn good job of hiding it.

He greets Julian at the door to his quarters, dressed immaculately in finely pressed grey clothing that Julian guesses must denote his status back on Cardassia as a scientist, with some purple and dark blue accents. All the way from his quarters down to the promenade he is unfailingly congenial, letting Julian direct their path and destination with nothing more than a wave and a “I’ll defer to your good judgement, Doctor.”  
  
Considering how news must have travelled around the station about their new guest, there is a rather lackluster crowd awaiting them on the promenade. Julien wonders if Sisko had Odo tighten security in order to avoid another Maritso incident; in any case he finds himself glad for the lack of faces as they step out onto the deck. If his companion finds the lack of people surprising, he doesn’t show it and his mask, if it is one, doesn’t slip when he brings Tanin to the newly opened earth restaurant, asking if he would be interested in trying earth cuisine or would actually prefer to have a traditional Cardassian breakfast. Tanin simply waves away Julian’s concerns and begins to glance around at the restaurant and the menu with that same curiosity from Sisko’s office; Julian has to wave off the waitress a few times before Tanin finishes his examination and the two finally place their orders.

As the waitress takes their menu and departs, Tanin returns his gaze to Julian with a sigh of wonder.  “My, this is a rather enormous station, isn’t it? I suppose that’s because of its paucal purposes.”

“It’s certainly given us a run for our money.” Julian takes a sip of the complimentary coffee the waitress placed before them. “Chief O’Brien will be sure to tell you all the late nights and headaches trying to get it running up to Federation standards has caused him.

Tanin shakes his head with a slight laugh. “I must confess, I don’t envy your Chief; having to consolidate Federation and Cardassian technology would be a hard task for anyone.”

“And the Bajoran technology as well.” Julian adds him, trying to keep his tone light as well as fight down the suspicion that Tanin had purposefully left that part out.

Tanin nods. “Ah, yes, of course; forgive me for my oversight. Bajoran technology is not really…discussed in the science ministry.”

“It’s understandable, given your peoples’ rather, complicated to say the least, history with each other.” Julian replies easily, “Hopefully with the peace treaty you’ll be able to experience more of it.”

“Indeed.” Tanin takes a sip of his own drink, hot fish juice. “The exchange and furthering of knowledge are always a cause for celebration.” He sends another smile at Julian. “But of course, I’m sure that you’ve had plenty of opportunity for that with Mr. Garak.”

Julian lets out a long-suffering sigh, being careful to keep his heart rate steady. “Not nearly as much as I’d like. I’m afraid Garak is rather unforthcoming about anything beyond Cardassian literature, architecture and art; as such I’m rather uninformed when it comes to the other parts of your people’s culture and language. I hope you’ll be sure to point out any of my missteps.”

“Ah, typical of an obsi—old fashioned Cardassian, keep your friends close and enemies closer and all that.” Tanin winks conspiratorially at Julian, who wonders if he perhaps meant to rock Julian’s world by suggesting Garak used to be an agent of the obsidian order.  
  
In any case, that ship has long since entered warp and Julian answers not with surprise but a good-natured laugh. “If he could hear you say that he would be extremely offended, he prides himself on being the most up to date; at least, when it comes to fashion that is.”

  
“On Cardassia Prime, we have a saying,” Tanin pauses, to allow the waitress to refill his coffee before continuing, “those that show the most flesh hide the most knives.”  
  
Julian shakes his head to try and calm the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. “Well, perhaps he is not as old fashioned as he appears to be.”

“Indeed.” Tanin lets the matter to drop as the waitress returns with their orders. “Regardless, it is a shame that you haven’t had the opportunity to gain a more…in depth look at Cardassian culture.” 

Julian takes a big bite of his bacon and eggs, gesturing at Tanin with his fork. “You wouldn’t happen to be offering to provide me with that in depth look, would you, Tanin?”

“Would it be appreciated if I were?” Tanin returns with a small smile.

Julian pretends to be in consternation over the whole thing. “Well,” Julian tsks, “So long as I wouldn't be distracting you from your work—”

There is a loud thunk as Tanin’s fork hits the table, and Julian startles slightly the sound before looking up at Tanin; who is staring frozen almost in shock at him.

“Tanin? Are you alright?” Julian reaches to take out his tricorder to begin scanning him. Perhaps he was having a reaction to the food?  
  
“I—” Tanin’s mouth opens and closes for a few more minutes before he finally finds the words, the ridges on his neck and eyes beginning to turn a dark, almost black, blue. “You—that gesture—must not mean the same on Earth as it does on Cardassia.”

Julian’s brows furrow in confusion. “Gesture? What gesture?”

“Your, uh—” Tanin comes back to himself here and lets out a small chuckle.  “That sound you make is what happens when a, rather audaciously forward, Cardassian signals interest in another. In other words, in we were on Cardassia, you would have been propositioning me.”

Julian sits entirely still for a moment before heat begins to crawl up his neck and bloom across his cheeks. “Oh.” He barely resists the urge to crawl under the table and will himself onto the next ship due to leave the station as soon as possible. “Oh, I—I’m so so sorry, Dr, Nahar. On earth those gestures are merely used to convey indecision or thinking. I assure you that I never meant to—”

“It’s quite alright, Julian.” Tanin cuts him off with another round of light chuckles. “It’s only to be expected that there will be some…cultural hiccups as we get to know one another.”

Julian still can’t quite meet Tanin’s eyes. “Thank you for being so gracious about my misstep, Dr. Nahar.”

“Tanin, please, are there’s no reason for gratitude.” Tanin shakes his head, the color beginning to slowly dissipate from his neck ridges.

Julian shakes his head. “All the same, it seems like I should probably take you up on your offer.”

“Indeed, and hopefully you’ll be able to help me avoid a misstep like yours just now.” Tanin sends him another wink and continues to eat.

Julian laughs. “Or perhaps I’ll let you walk right into one so I’m not the only one embarrassed by this whole affair.”

“Oh, I assure you, Julian, being propositioned by one such as yourself is hardly insulting. In fact, I dare say you’ve given me a little bit of an ego boost.” And though he wondered if he was imagining it before, but the look that Tanin gives him there seems to communicate the suggestive nature of his words loud and clear.

He clears his throat and fights down the flush threatening to climb up his neck, because it would be a tremendously bad idea to go anywhere near that avenue of thought. And he highly doubts that sleeping with somebody else, let alone a possible agent of Gul Dukat would make Garak any more likely to consider a relationship between the two of them.

Julian clears his throat. “So, what’s on the docket for today?”

“Familiarizing myself with the equipment and making sure that all my instruments and diagnostic tools are calibrated correctly and working efficiently.” Tanin picks up his own water, examining it for a moment before taking a sip as well. “Then I’ll begin to run tests on the particle emissions from the wormhole when it opens and closes—tell me, have you read Dr. Vohykra’s work on the theoretical specificities of wormholes versus man made wormholes?”

And the conversation thankfully moves forward from there, with no more propositioning from either of them.

* * *

There is a dull klaxon that sounds in Sisko’s mind whenever Garak comes up in conversation.

It is a simple warning, a reminder to _“watch out for that one”,_ a signal that he likes to imagine is also sounding within Bashir’s mind; though a part of him suspects that it is not as consistent as he would like it to be.

Garak chats incessantly the whole way down to the docking bay, Sisko tuning him out for the most part as he turns over the recent events between this… _civilian_ and his chief medical officer. All of his conclusions drawing reactions ranging from moderate to severe concern about their growing relationship.

“—and of course, I simply told the boy that there was no way that I could make him a pair of pants from Tarkalean silk for a mere _three strips of latinum_ and that, Commander, is when this ensign revealed his true colours. He began insinuating that I was unfairly playing favorites with my customers, which if true would be no one’s concern but my own, and that I was trading, would you believe this, _sexual favors for clothes_!” 

Sisko blinks, brought back to reality with a solid thud. “What?”

“Indeed, Commander, I was as shocked as you are,” Garak nods sagely, “but trust me, my dear, it gets worse. He then proceeded to imply that he had been involved in a sexual liaison with the person he accused me of playing favorites with; who, by the way, was one of your top senior officers. And I must say, I find myself quite perplexed as to why Starfleet lets their officers get away with spreading salacious and vicious rumors about their superiors—”

“I assure you, Mr. Garak, that we do not.” Sisko cuts him off firmly. “What was the name of this Ensign?”

Garak lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, what does it matter, you’ll just give him another one of those _chances_ that the Federation just— _hands out_ to everybody no matter what they do.”

“Mr. Garak,” Sisko draws to a stop just down the hallway from where passengers are being loaded onto the Vulcan transport vessel. “Starfleet takes accusations such as these very seriously; Now, I give you my word that I will investigate this matter thoroughly and punish those responsible.”

Garak hums noncommittedly. “Well, since I can see you feel so strongly about it, Commander, the ensign’s name was Bradley Grey.”

“And the superior office he named?” Sisko asks.

Garak waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, surely there’s no need to bother them; they’ve assured me that they were in no way involved with the ensign at all.”

“Be that as it may,” Sisko locks Garak in his gaze, “as Commander of this station I have a responsibility to ensure that my officers are conducting themselves appropriately and that no one is being taken advantage of by their superiors, as well as being maligned by those under their command.”

Garak holds up his hands placatingly. “Alright, if you must know, Commander, it was Dr. Bashir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Garak,” Sisko nods, not at all surprised, “I appreciate you bringing this to my attention; rest assured I will work to resolve the matter while you are away.”

Garak smiles. “Thank you, Commander, that is most appreciated.”

He pats Sisko on the arm lightly before heading toward where the shuttle is waiting, pausing in the door before turning around. “Oh and, Commander?”

“Yes, Mr. Garak?” Sisko represses the urge to sigh himself.

Garak smiles in a way that would make the hair on a less experienced man’s body tingle. “Do look after my dear doctor for me while I’m gone. I would hate for anything to…complicate our burgeoning relationship now that you and I are getting along.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Garak?”

Garak’s eyes widen in shock. “Oh, of course not, Commander; I’m simply letting you know that if anything happens to Dr. Bashir, I’ll be forced to reconsider life on this station.”  

“Of course.” Sisko doesn’t drop his gaze from Garak’s. “Have a safe flight, Mr. Garak.”

Garak gives one last smile before ducking through the docking doors and disappearing from view. Sisko waits a moment more for the doors to close before heading back along the corridor towards OPS, turning over Garak and Bashir’s relationship within his mind. And while there is still moderate to severe concern with each conclusion he reaches, the concern no longer pertains to Julian’s safety.

* * *

“You’re off your game.” 

Julian sighs and goes over to collect his darts from the board. “Sorry, Miles; I guess I’m a little distracted today.”

“Not like I can blame you.” Miles takes aim at the board as Julian comes back to stand beside him. “After all, it takes a lot of energy to be a Cardie babysitter.”

Julian raises an eyebrow at him. “Haven’t you also been helping Dr. Nahar the past few days?”

“Yeah, but,” Miles shrugs, “there’s a difference between working with someone and making sure they have a good time outside of work. Takes a toll on you.”

Miles throws his darts, all but one of them missing their mark, and curses.

Julian laughs. “Perhaps the difference isn’t as big as you think.”

 “What difference?” Jadzia hovers behind them, drink in hand as she eyes the dartboard and raises an eyebrow in silent judgement; making Julian chuckle and Miles scowl.

Miles stomps over to collect him darts and Julian answers the question. “Miles thought my bad throws were a result of all the time I’ve been spending looking after Dr. Nahar this week.”

“Oh.” Jadzia’s face lights up in mock surprise. “Whereas the time he spent with him wasn’t nearly as stressful?”

“Apparently.” Julian grins at Miles, who stares daggers back. “Though his own throws beg to differ.”

“When you two are done finding yourselves so hilarious, perhaps you might actually take your turn, Julian?”

Jadzia shakes her head. “Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait for a while, Chief, because I don’t think I’ll ever stop being hilarious.”

Julian lets out another chuckle and Miles grumbles something about needing a drink before headed to the bar.

“Speaking of, how is being Dr. Nahar’s ambassador going?” Jadzia turns her gaze towards Julian, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

Julian hesitates for a moment. “Well it’s…been interesting, to say the least. We’ve been discussing the cultural differences between Cardassia and Earth for the most part, mostly over meals and walks around the station.”

“So you found your other expert.” Jadzia looks entirely too pleased with herself. “That’s good.”

Julian rolls his eyes. “Yes, if you don't mind that expert being a potential assassin, though unless he’s attempting to kill Garak by seducing me I don’t see what he could be planning.”

“Seduce you?” Jadzia turns that raised eyebrow on him. “You are aware that not everyone is trying to fall into bed with you, right Julian?”  

Julian puts a hand over his chest, eyes wide. “What!? You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.” Jadzia takes a seat at the nearest table, motioning for Julian to join her. “Well, go on, tell why you think our newest guest is courting you.”

Julian pulls out the chair opposite her and drops into it. “He’s just—the tone of his voice has been very—suggestive; as have his words and though I’ve managed to change the subject and he’s never appeared offended I can’t quite wrap my head around what it is he’s playing at.”

“What kind of things has he said?” Jadzia asks.

Julian pauses for a moment, “Well...he made a passing comment that I did the uniform more credit than anyone else he had seen, and then when we were at dinner yesterday he said something about his meal being ‘the second most delectable thing he had seen all day’ and on the first day we met he made a point of telling me what a shame it was that I’d never experienced a more intimate understanding of Cardassian culture.”

Silence falls over the two of them for a moment as Jadzia takes a sip of her drink, before a smirk begins to curl the corners of her lips. “Well, I take back what I said. You’re quite the Cardassian honey trap Julian.”

 “Cardassian honey-what now?” Miles has chosen the perfect moment to rejoin them and Julian struggles not to crawl under the table.

Julian waves away Miles’ question. “It’s nothing, just—”  
  
“Just Julian managing to attract the attention of a second Cardassian agent on the station.”

Jadzia looks like she’s having entirely too much fun and Julian would strangle her if he could.

Miles shoots him a disgruntled look. “A _Cardassian_? What on earth did you do that for?”

“ _I_ didn’t do anything, I assure you.” Julian glares at them both, saving the sharpest daggers in his gaze for Jadzia.

Miles shakes his head, taking the third seat at their table. “What exactly did I miss in the _five_ minutes I was ordering a drink?”

“Julian’s charge for the foreseeable future finds him quite…stimulating.” Jadzia takes a sip of her drink with an air of innocence Julian just knows she’s never had—not even before the Dax symbiote was transferred to her.  

Meanwhile Miles is still struggling to completely connect the dots. “Charge? What do you…the only person that Julian’s looking after right now is…”

The answer hits him as suddenly as a thunderbolt and he turns to look at Julian incredulously, “You and Dr. Nahar?” 

“No!’ Julian fights not to shout back, judging by the slight lull in conversation around them he doesn’t entirely succeed and he forces his voice to a lower whisper. “No, not at all, he’s just been making some…rather suggestive comments—but it could all just be a huge cultural misunderstanding.”

Miles’ brow wrinkles in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently there are some…divides between Cardassian culture and Earth culture. For example, you know this—” Julian makes the tsk sound he had made the other day with Dr. Nahar “—on Cardassia that’s a way of propositioning someone.”

Miles’ eyebrows nearly fly off his face with how wide his eyes go. “How the hell d’you find that out?”

“The hard way.” Julian specifically ignores how Jadzia’s smirk grows exponentially. “And the other day when we came across some of the engineers arguing, he asked me whether Starfleet allowed its officers to flirt while working.”

“Arguing?” Miles rests his forehead to his palm, shaking his head. “Why I am surprised, of course _that’s_ how they would do it.”

Jadzia rolls her eyes at the two of them. “If you’re so concerned, Julian, then why don’t you just ask Dr. Nahar what his intentions are?”

“Because I don’t want the possible _assassin_ thinking that I might think that he’s flirting with me, especially if that isn’t the case.” Julian shakes his head. “If word about it gets back to Sisko I’ll never hear the end of it—You and Kira will make sure of that.”

“You’re hardly going to be as effective at this anyway if you’re wasting mental effort second guessing interactions that don’t need to be second guessed.” Jadzia nods her head behind Julian. “Here’s your chance now.”

Julian follows Jadzia’s gaze and sees Dr. Nahar making his way across the bar towards them, smiling brightly at Julian.  
  
He turns back to Jadzia, whose attention is focused on her drink. “Think of it like resetting a bone; one quick movement and you’ll feel much better in the long run.”

“That’s not even remotely what this is—”

“Julian!” Dr. Nahar rests a hand on his shoulder and Julian struggles not to jump. “What a lovely surprise to see you here, I had decided against calling you in case you were having an early night but I’m glad I was mistaken. And Chief O’Brien and Lieutenant Dax, nice to see you outside of the lab for a change.”

Miles grunts something that could plausibly be taken for agreement while Jadzia graces Dr. Nahar with a small smile. “It’s nice to see you too, Dr. Nahar. What do you think of Quark’s?”

“It’s certainly very lively.” Dr. Nahar glances around the bar, a curious smile on his face. “Not much different from reports I’ve heard from those that used to be stationed here; that though I believe is a new addition.”

The three of them follow his pointed finger, their eyes soon landing on the object of his interest, the dartboard.

“Ah, yes, Miles—Chief O’Brien— and I had that installed so we could play darts.” Julian tells him, and Dr. Nahar looks down at him curiously.

“Darts?”

“Yes, it’s a game where you throw, well, darts, onto the wheel to win.” Julian shows him the darts he’d been using, and in a sudden rush of very much wanting the past conversation to be dead and buried, continues. “I could show you, if you’d like?”

Dr. Nahar nods. “That would be very kind of you, Julian.”

“It’s no trouble really.” Julian stands up from the table and wanders back to his usual starting position. “You just, take one of the darts in your hand, decide where you want it to go and—”

He throws the dart, letting it sail through the air and land right on target—in the middle of the bullseye.

“Just like that.” He turns back to Dr. Nahar who is staring at the board in open fascination and offers the darts in his hand to him. “Would you like to give it a try?”

Dr. Nahar looks back at him, hesitating for a moment before taking the outstretched darts carefully, as though handling live vipers instead. “How…exactly does one do this?”

“Here.” Julian guides him carefully by the elbow to the starting position. “You stand here, take one of the darts in your hand like this and then—” He mimes the throwing action “—you release it with as much force as you think you need to get it to the board.”

Dr. Nahar blinks in confusion for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m afraid I still don’t quite understand.”

“That’s alright, here—” Julian steps closer, reforming the Dr. Nahar’s grip on the dart and gently forming the motion with his arm, “—like this.”

“Ah, I see and then…” Julian lets go of his arm and Dr. Nahar turns back to the dartboard and lets his dart fly, sending it sailing across the room and into the outer rings of the board. “Aha!”

Dr. Nahar grasps Julian’s shoulders, smiling widely down at him. “Thank you, Julian, that was most enjoyable.”

The tone is light and friendly but the way the thumbs rub softly against his shoulders suggests something more, and Julian finds himself swallowing roughly and cursing himself internally for trying to run away from the issue and instead running headlong into it. “Oh, it was no trouble at all. Now why don’t I introduce you to one of Earth’s favourite drinks?”

“That sounds delightful. What is it?” Dr. Nahar falls into step beside Julian as the two begin to weave their way towards the bar.

“It’s called Root beer.”

* * *

 Miles watches the two of them disappear into the crowd, eyes narrowed.

“Your ale is getting warm.”

He turns to look at Jadzia, jerking a thumb in Julian’s direction. “Are you telling me you’re not at all worried about that?”

“I’m telling you that your ale is getting warm.” Jadzia glances in that direction as well, a slight frown pulling down the corners of her lips. “But I will admit, I do find that rather concerning as well. Especially given the context of Dr. Nahar’s visit.”

Miles, vindicated, turns back to glare at the place where the two of them disappeared. “We should ask Sisko to put someone else is charge of looking after the bloody Cardie.”

“Dukat specifically asked for Julian.” Jadzia shakes her head. “Sisko can’t change Nahar’s ambassador without earning a lot of questions, and more than likely, ire.”

Miles grumbles into his ale in reply. “Seems Garak isn’t the one we need to worry about in any case.”

“Perhaps.” Jadzia is quiet for a moment. “I hadn’t realized you were worried about Garak, Chief.”

Miles looks so disgruntled that Jadzia almost laughs. “I’m not—just of the two of them I’d prefer he was here rather than that one.” He catches sight of the two of them at the bar and starts to watch them closely again. “At least Garak never pretends, you always know what you’re getting with him.”

“And what’s that?” Jadzia asks with wide-eyed curiosity, though it is subverted by the amusement in those eyes.   

Miles throws back the rest of his ale and moves to join Julian and Dr. Nahar at the bar, throwing his reply over his shoulder as he does so.

“Lies upon bloody lies.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Julian and Sisko have a discussion about workplace harassment, Julian and Garak talk via video chat, and Kira finally has more than one line.

“Come in.”

Sisko is staring out his office window as Julian walks in, thumb rubbing slightly over the baseball in his hands, seemingly not quite ready to withdraw from his thoughts. 

“Commander.” He resists the urge to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet amid the thrum of nervous energy underneath his skin. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“I did.” Sisko puts the baseball down and finally turns to face Julian. “How is our guest finding his stay?” 

Julian breathes out a sigh that he hopes isn’t too obvious in its frustration. “To be quite honest, sir, he seems to be having the time of his life. For the past week, we’ve done nothing more than take tours on the station and have meals together; and throughout all that there hasn’t been even the slightest hint of ill intent from him. He either doesn’t have any nefarious plans or we’ve thwarted them completely by sending Garak away—or perhaps this was all just a wild goose chase to lead us away from an entirely different scheme that Dukat is exacting—” 

“Does Garak have any opinions on the situation?”  Sisko asks.

Julian lets out a small laugh, shaking his head ruefully. “Oh, plenty, but they mostly boil down to a preference for any option that involves him boarding the next shuttle back to DS9 as soon as possible.”   

“Indeed. He seemed rather reluctant to leave the station.” Sisko leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers together, and leveling an even look at Julian. “He also mentioned a certain incident before he left, one involving an engineering ensign by the name of Bradley Grey; you wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

The surprise that wells up in him is quickly overwhelmed by frustration and a non-insignificant amount of guilt. “I…yes, commander, I do know about that. I was…there when it happened.”

“Indeed.” Lesser men have surely combust from the look Sisko is giving him. “Yet, you felt no need to report the incident in an official way, opting to informally report what happened to Chief O’Brien instead.”

“Well, I—” Julian breaks off, struggling to find the words. “I thought that since nothing came of it there wasn’t any need to—”  
  
“Ordinarily, I would be inclined to agree with you.” Sisko cuts down his words with a sharp, tone, standing up abruptly. “However, this is not simply a case of a disagreement between two civilians of the stations. This involves a Starfleet officer—two Starfleet officers—one of which, during the course of this _disagreement_ , insinuated that his superior officer engaged in an inappropriate relationship with him.”

Sisko is standing beside Julian now, having strode over towards him, and Julian is struggling to keep himself composed and not collapse under weight of the sheer unencumbered ire pressing down on him. “Now, what do you think would have happened if when I had discussed these events with Ensign Grey, instead of confessing that he had only made those statements in an attempt to upset Mr. Garak, he doubled down on them? Does the chain of evidence presented so far lean more in your favor or his?” 

Julian swallows, struggling to speak through the lump in his throat. “His.” 

“Exactly.” Sisko strides back behind the desk. “Now, I will tell you the same thing I told Mr. Garak, doctor: as Commander of this station, and furthermore as a Starfleet Officer, I have a responsibility to ensure that my officers are conducting themselves appropriately and that no one is being taken advantage of by their superiors, as well as being maligned by those under their command. That means that should an incident like this happen again, or if you observe any sign of improper conduct by anyone, you report it directly to me; understood?”

“Perfectly, sir.” The frustration is gone now, replaced with a well of shame. “I…apologize, for not coming to you with this sooner; I suppose I...I wasn’t thinking of the ramifications and the potential seriousness of the situation.”

“Apology accepted.” Sisko retakes his seat, the anger bleeding from his voice as easily as breath leaves lungs. “Now, back to the other matter at hand, though all current evidence seems to suggest Dr. Nahar is more benign than we originally anticipated, I would prefer that Garak stayed on Vulcan for a few more days at least; just to be certain.”

Sisko meets Julian’s eyes as he grabs his baseball again, tossing it up in the air before catching it. “Perhaps you would like to deliver the news yourself?”

“Yes, sir,” Julian nods, though dread begins to pool in the pit formerly known as his stomach “I think I would.”

* * *

 

“Well, my dear, I simply thought that Commander Sisko deserved to know—”

“There’s no need to explain yourself, Garak.” Julian takes a seat across from the video screen, Tarkalean tea fresh from the replicator steaming in his hands. “You did the right thing—I should have told Sisko about what happened from the beginning.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d think that Garak looked almost, well, surprised at the lack of anger he’s receiving for a moment, but Julian opts to look past his expression to the view from his friend’s balcony; the beautiful red sands providing a stark contrast to the sleek, glass and metal buildings dotting the skyline. “Vulcan looks beautiful; part of me wishes I was there with you.” 

“You only say that because you haven’t had to spend the last week in its people’s company.” Garak replies dryly, “There’s only so many times I can stand to listen to someone explain how utterly inferior I am because I don’t have a bowl cut.”

“I imagine you’d look rather dashing with a bowl cut, Garak.” Julian smiles teasingly at him.

“Well you’re just going to have to keep on imagining that, my dear, because it will never be a reality.” Garak shakes his head.

Julian laughs. “Alright, besides the terrible pressure to adopt a bowl cut, how has your trip been?”

“I’ll say one thing for the Vulcans, they certainly know architecture.” Garak sighs in wonderment. “Not the modern buildings, I mean, that’s all sleek lines and angles, all sufficient no style—but the ancient structures, the temples and libraries? Those really take one’s breath away. Of course, they are rather juvenile when compared to Cardassia’s ancient structures, but still, points must be awarded for effort.”

Julian shakes his head. “Only you could hide an insult inside a compliment, Garak.”

“You’re rather good at it yourself, my dear doctor.” Garak smirks. “Although, you tend to let your tone give you away, a rather amateur mistake, though an expected one for a human.”

“Curse that damn humanity, always getting in my way.” 

“Don’t despair, one day we’ll cure you of it, my dear.”

“I imagine that’ll be the day that Starfleet decides to implement your uniform designs.” 

Garak throws his hands up. “Ugh, don’t remind me, I’m just glad you had the decency to change out of that travesty before you called me; though I must say, _that_ is hardly an improvement.”  
  
“They’re _pajamas_ , Garak, they’re supposed to be comfy; not fashionable.” Julian rolls his eyes.  
  
Garak sighs exasperatedly. “Who told you that you had to have one over the other?” He shakes his head, muttering the next words almost under his breath, “Green and red zebra stripes? As soon as I get back, those will be the first to go.” 

“Planning to finally redesign my whole wardrobe?” Julian smiles at him. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a while; you’re going to be in rather high demand when you get back. It seems the entire station has decided that this is the time to ruin what clothes they have.”

Garak groans. “Oh, it’s always the way, isn’t it? Try to keep everyone decently clothed at least until I return.”

“I’m afraid it might be a little too late for that Garak.” He tries not to laugh at Garak’s answering groan. “Cheer up, at least you’ll know you’ve been missed.”

Garak offers Julian a wry smile. “My tailoring skills have been missed, I doubt much else of me has.”

“I assure you it very much has.” Julian leans forward, nearly knocking over his tea in the process, as though pressing himself closer to the screen will somehow put him close enough to Garak to take the lonely glint from his eyes. “Lunch hasn’t been the same without your scintillating commentary, and you’d be surprised the amount of times I turn around when something happens and wonder what you would say if you were there." 

Garak cocks his head slightly. “Would I?”

“Yes!” Julian nods emphatically. “You are missed, Garak—I—I miss you dearly.”

Garak stares at him for a moment with those sharp eyes, and Julian feels exposed and raw the way he had when talking with Jadzia in Quark’s—but somehow, he doesn’t mind it as much. Though it is still an effort to hold still and allow those eyes to search him, he doesn’t feel the overwhelming need to go drown himself in a drink to escape them. In fact, if he’s being honest with himself, he rather likes the intensity of those eyes being focused on him, just like when they had been tangled up in each other—  
  
Julian’s throat is terribly dry, and he breaks the eye contact with Garak to reach for his Tarkalean tea with a slight cough. When he looks back, the intensity is gone, not unlike a summer storm in its quick disappearance, and Garak is smiling softly at him. But though less intense, the smile makes his knees slightly weak, and he’s glad that he chose to sit down for this conversation because he’s not sure his legs could support his weight right now.

“Thank you, my dear, that is most kind of you.” Garak’s smile turns into a smirk. “If I’m being entirely honest, I must confess that my own mealtimes have been rather dull without your presence as well.”

Julian breathes out a laugh. “Well, now I know you’ve been replaced with a changeling, Garak; you’re never entirely honest with anybody.”

“Oh, what a wound your words have dealt me, my dear,” Garak puts a hand over his chest, shooting Julian a look of mock betrayal, “and when we were having such a lovely exchange.”  
  
Julian shoots back his own look of mock apology. “Oh, I am so terribly sorry, Garak; tell me, what could I possibly do to make it up to you?”

“Book my passage on the next shuttle back to the station.” 

All the humor flies out of Julian in an instant, and he leans back from the screen, as though that will put distance between him and the question. He tries to hide his guilt behind his tea mug for a moment with a long sip, but eventually must put it down. “I’m sorry, Garak, I know you’re eager to return to the station, but Commander Sisko wants you to stay where you are for just a few more days. Just until we’re absolutely certain that Tanin doesn’t mean any harm—”  
  
“Tanin?” Garak gives him an unreadable look, all that easy camaraderie gone. “Last we spoke, you were still calling him Dr. Nahar despite his—” the corners of his lips turn down in a slight sneer “—request.” 

Julian sighs and shakes his head. “He’s been rather insistent on the matter, and it felt rude to keep ignoring his request, given how small it is. And it would hardly be proof of our good faith and intentions if we were to refuse any attempt at camaraderie a Cardassian representative offered us.”  
  
“No, of course not, choosing to belief in the best of people despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary is one of your Federation’s staples, after all.”

Julian frowns. “There’s hardly overwhelming evidence to the contrary here, Garak. All Tanin— _Dr. Nahar_ —has done is work collaboratively with Jadzia and Miles on this joint project, eat his meals and talk with me about—”

He breaks off, feeling his cheeks heat. “Well, anyway, he’s hardly—”

“Talk with you about…what?” He should have known Garak wouldn’t let that go so easily, his eyes are narrowed and watching Julian’s every minute expression closely—apparently you can take the agent out of the order but not the order out of the agent.

Julian waves off the question. “Just…certain differences between Cardassian and Earth culture. Apparently, there are quite a few that extend beyond literature and the arts.”

“Oh, don’t be stingy with me, doctor,” Garak opens his arms invitingly, but his tone is dripping with mockery, “tell me what our dear _Tanin_ has shared with you.”

Julian leans back in his chair and gives Garak an exasperated look. “Alright then, if you must know, he told me what this means—” He makes the tsk sound with his tongue before continuing “—and that apparently Cardassians… _flirt_ by challenging each other on mutual topics of interest, or in simplistic human terms, arguing.”

“I believe your ability to obfuscate the truth has grown in my absence, doctor.” Garak’s eyes have narrowed, the image they bring to Julian’s mind is that of the point of a knife. “Unless exploring culture differences is a slang term for seduction on earth.”

If his cheeks heat anymore, they might catch fire. “It’s not—that’s not what’s happening here, Garak, he’s just been—pointing things out as they happen—and by the way it’s partly your fault—”  
  
“ _My_ fault?”

“Yes! If you had told me what that sound meant then I wouldn’t have ended up, well, _propositioning_ Tanin during our first conversation!”

“Ah that’s right, if I recall correctly you humans prefer to save your propositioning for the third _conversation_.”

Julian forces himself to stay seated, clenching his fists. “That’s not what I meant, Garak, you know that—”

“Frankly, doctor, I _don’t_ know what you mean.” Garak’s gaze might as well be wind across a frozen tundra for all the warmth Julian can find in it. “All I know is that you stranding me here just so that you can flirt with the latest fling to catch your eye is very unprofessional.”

Anger burns hot and bright through Julian. “If I wanted to flirt with Tanin or even take him to bed, rest assured, Garak, I wouldn’t need to leave you stranded anywhere.”

He stands up from the desk, painfully aware of the fact that his current attire does nothing to complement his biting words. “In fact, perhaps I’ll go do that right now; after all, that’s what a spy would do, right? Get close to their target in any way possible and then snoop through their things. And, as you’ve said yourself, I’ve always been overly fascinated with spies; and that way you can come home right away.”

“Do as you like, doctor.” Garak waves a hand purposefully and cruelly indifferently. “It’s no concern of mine.”

“I think I will.” Julian leans forward, giving Garak a sarcastic smile. “Enjoy the rest of your vacation, Garak.” 

And if he hits the button to end their transmission with more savagery than is entirely necessary, that’s _entirely_ his own prerogative.

* * *

If he had hoped a good night’s sleep and busying himself with work would have doused the flames of his anger, he was sorely mistaken.

It burns bright and hot within him throughout his whole morning routine, and well into his work day, scaring off nurses and medical orderlies, and turning his bedside manner into something the devil himself would award him a medal for. 

By the time Jadzia comes into the med bay around lunchtime, he’s fairly certain there’s a tangible bubble of ill will surrounding him, warding off even the most well-meaning of interloper; the rest of his staff having left the entire first room to him and made themselves scarce.

“That new earth restaurant just got a fresh shipment of Rigelian peppers and they’ve started incorporating them in their regular dishes for customers who want an extra kick.” She places one of the dishes in her hand on the desk next to Julian, taking a seat next to him. “Since you’re always telling me how much better you are at handling spice than me, I thought you could finally prove it.”

Julian eyes the bowl next to him skeptically before returning to his computer. “Maybe later, Dax, I’m working right now.”

“You’ve been working for the past five hours without a break.” Jadzia pushes the bowl further towards him. “Did you have anything for breakfast this morning besides Tarkalean tea?”

“I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”

“It isn’t. But if you keep treating your medical staff like chew toys it’ll be Commander Sisko’s business.” Jadzia places her bowl next to Julian’s, leaning forward onto her knees, her eyes soft. “Julian, what’s wrong?” 

He swallows, avoiding her gaze as a horrible itch of guilt begins to spread throughout him, before giving in to it with a sigh and closing down his computer program.

“It’s Garak.”

“What about him?”

“He’s being entirely unreasonable!” Julian springs up from his seat in a burst of energy, nearly knocking over their lunch in the process. “He’s taking out his frustration about having to stay away from the station on me!”

Jadzia nods. “Well, that certainly doesn’t seem fair—” 

“It’s entirely unfair!” Julian wanders aimlessly around the room, the irritated energy practically flying out of him with every step. “He even accused me of purposefully making sure he stayed on Vulcan longer than he had to just so I could flirt with Tanin! I mean, have you ever heard anything more ridiculous—” He turns around to see Jadzia looking at him with a thoughtful expression. “What, what is it?”

Jadzia shakes her head slightly. “It’s nothing, just—” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “Julian, have you considered that perhaps Garak is feeling a little…jealous?”

“Jealous?” Julian frowns. “What on earth would he have to feel jealous about—”

“Think about it for a second.” Jadzia stands up, crossing over to stand in front of him. “He’s been sent away from the place that, whether he likes it or not, has been his home for the past few years, and while he’s away his best friend has suddenly started doing all the things that they used to do together with somebody else. Wouldn’t you feel jealous, or at least a little hurt, if you were him?”

Julian is quiet for a moment, turning over Jadzia’s words in his head. “I…suppose you’re right, still it doesn’t give him the right to accuse me of leaving him there to help my own interests—”

“No, and he shouldn’t have said those things to you.” Jadzia catches his gaze and offers him a knowing smile. “But perhaps, given the situation, you might need to cut him some slack.”

Julian hesitates for a moment before nodding, his shoulder slumping at his side as the rest of his anger drains away. “You're right, of course.”

He offers her a smile, “Thank-you, Jadzia, for bringing me lunch,” that quickly turns into a smug smirk, “I look forward to devouring it while you give up after a few mouthfuls.”

“Don't get cocky with me, Julian.” Jadzia returns to her seat and picks up her bowl, “Unlike a certain Cardassian, I don’t find it nearly as charming. Which reminds me,” She points at Julian with her fork, “Dr. Nahar asked me to remind you that you agreed to show him how to play tennis after lunch today.” 

Julian groans. “Oh, god, that’s right I did. I completely forgot; well, it seems I’ll be following you back after lunch. We can stop for a glass of milk for you on the way.”

“How about you put your money where your mouth is already?” Jadzia fires back, digging into her curry.

Julian laughs and digs into his own, savoring the explosion of flavor and heat on his tongue.

In the end, both of them end up needing that glass of milk, and several more after that.

* * *

“Julian, wonderful to see you this afternoon!”

Julian answers Tanin’s enthusiasm with a hesitant smile. “Good afternoon to you too, Tanin, ready for our tennis game?” 

“More than ready, my friend, though I’m afraid it will be less of a game than you might hope.” Tanin offers Julian a wry smile. “Just let me finish up a few things here and then we can be on our way.”

Julian nods, leaning against one of the rails in the lab. “Of course, take your time, we’re in no rush.”

Tanin gives him one last smile before turning back to his work, and with Jadzia having broken off once they got to the science labs to check on some other project she had going on, and Chief O’Brien’s feet sticking out of one of the ducts on the far side of this lab, Julian finds himself alone with his thoughts.

He turns over Jadzia’s words from the infirmary in his mind. Could Garak have really been jealous? It seems unlikely but…well, he can’t exactly blame Garak for thinking that Tanin was _seducing_ him, he had thought the same thing after all; had even told Miles and Jadzia as much before Jadzia had waved it off. And Jadzia was good at these sorts of things, better than him at the very least, so if she didn’t think it was anything to take notice of then he must be imagining it. And anyway, Cardassians didn’t flirt the same way that humans did, Tanin himself had pointed that out—so it was entirely possible that there was no flirting going on at all—on either side.

He shakes himself out of those thoughts. All that was beside the point; when Jadzia had brought up the possibility that Garak might be jealous, she had meant it in terms of feeling like his friendship was being replaced, not as—Julian feels his heart sink in a disappointment that he can find no justification for—a jilted lover.

And why would he? Garak had never made any attempt to change the relationship between the two of them, even after the whole betazoid fever incident. And did Julian even want the relationship between the two of them to change? What they had was…special, beyond anything that he had ever had before with another, and if attempting to shift it to somewhere new were to cause this thing they had to shudder and collapse—he tenses at the mere thought of it, hands gripping the railing tighter than strictly necessary.

When he had first talked to Jadzia about what had happened between him and Garak, all he knew was that he wanted a chance to talk about it with Garak, to explore it in a rational and more logical state of mind. But perhaps Garak was right for folding what had happened between them away in a drawer and throwing away the key. What they have—their lunches, their talks, their easy banter, the comfort they draw from each other—it seems a lot to throw away on something as simple as sex. Was it worth it to risk the relationship they had in favour of one with something as complex as love—? 

He shakes himself out of that thought quickly. _Love_ —that word weighted down with concrete shoes, as opposed to its winged familiar: ‘attraction’, had no place here. He didn’t…he didn’t feel that way about Garak—granted, when he had first met him at the replimat that day, which his sly smirk and smooth charm, and the soft pressure of his hands on his shoulders he had felt—drawn in— _attracted_ he supposed one could say—to him—but _love_ —  
  
And yet.  
  
He wasn’t lying when he said he missed him.

He feels it almost like a tangible ache; its presence made all the more poignant when he sits across from Tanin as they take their meals together, half-expecting to look up and see Garak’s amused eyes twinkling back at him, or when he’s having a drink with Miles or Jadzia in Quark’s, half-hearing Garak voicing his distaste for the rowdy crowd all around them in his ear, grumbling about going somewhere quieter, or when he walks past Garak’s shop on the promenade and sees it quiet and empty, and remembers hot breath on his neck and a warm embrace curling all around him and drowning him in…affection. Arms that still wanted to hold him, to touch him, keep him close, even after the heady throes of sex…and he can’t remember the last time that someone wanted to do that; and still can’t quite bring himself to believe that someone—that _Garak_ —had wanted _him_ enough to hold on for more after they had his body. And the idea that it was all just an illusion, the product of an illness, or an influence that neither of them asked for, tears at his chest from the inside out. 

He closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh, trying to send the ache in his chest out with his breath, and when it stays, stubbornly, hooking iron claws into his heart to keep itself there, he allows himself to feel, for just one moment, fiercely and deeply, his desire for Garak to be there, right next to him, and not light years away on another planet.

**_“Shtel!”_ **

His eyes snap open at the yell just in time to see the flash of light and smoke erupting around Tanin, sending him flying back from his station and into the bulkhead across from it with a sickening crunch.

“Tanin!”

He rushes towards the fallen scientist, pulling his portable tricorder from his pocket and running it over Tanin’s body. It beeps quickly to indicate that none of Tanin’s vertebrae appear to be damaged, and Julian allows himself a second of relief before reaching forward to take his pulse.  
  
He has to filter out the vibrations of Miles’ heavy stomping footsteps running towards them as he does so, focusing on the slightly irregular thrum beneath his fingertips.

“What the hell happened?”  
  
Julian shakes his head. “I don’t know; I think something went wrong with the station he was working on, there was this flash of light and then all of a sudden he was thrown against the wall.” He slides his arm behind Tanin, gingerly aligning himself closer to his unconscious body to better support him. “I think he might have a skull fracture.”

“What do you mean went wrong?” Miles’ brow furrows.  
  
Julian spares Miles an exasperated look. “I _don’t know_ ; what I do know is I need to get Tanin to the infirmary right away.” He presses his COMM badge. “Bashir to OPS, we need an emergency transport to the infirmary, two to beam up.”  
  
_“Acknowledged,”_ Kira’s voice comes through, clear and steady, _“energizing now.”_

As the golden beams of light envelop them both, Julian catches one last glace at the station, the open panel Tanin had been working with scorched completely black; save for two handprints on either side of it. 

* * *

Julian was right, Tanin did have a minor skull fracture, an easy fix, but one that would require careful monitoring until Tanin regained consciousness to make sure there had been no other damage. So far, his scans haven’t indicated any swelling of the brain tissue, and the rest of the injuries are nothing more than superficial bruises and burns, but it still doesn’t stop him from tapping his foot anxiously. He still doesn’t know enough about Cardassian biology, despite his overwhelming desire to do so, especially after the…incident with Enabran Tain and Garak’s…technology. And there’s a part of him that’s terrified he’s missed something, something that would be painfully obvious to someone who wasn’t so ignorant. 

“Doctor.”

He turns to see Sisko entering the infirmary. “Commander.”

“How is he?” Sisko comes to stand next to Julian, though he keeps his eyes on Tanin.  
  
Julian sighs, “He appears to be fine, for now. He had a minor skull fracture where his head connected with the wall, but I repaired it, as well as the burns on his hands, and the rest is just bruises. He’ll be sore, but he’ll live.”

“Good, it would have made for a rather uncomfortable conversation with Dukat and the Admirals otherwise.” Sisko turns his gaze to Julian. “Did you see what happened?”

Julian shakes his head. “No, I was…my mind was elsewhere. I heard him yell, and then I saw the panel malfunction and send him across the room—”  

Tanin groans, dragging their attention towards him, and Julian abandons his sentence and their conversation in favor of quickly crossing across the room to scan him with his tricorder, fingers around his wrist to feel his pulse. “Tanin? Tanin can you hear me?”

“Julian? What—where am I?” Tanin’s eyes open blearily, not quite focused yet.  
  
Julian shines the light from his tricorder into Tanin’s pupils. “You’re in the infirmary; you had an accident, do you remember?”

“Accident? Oh, yes, the—in the lab.” Tanin’s eyes regain their focus, and with it, a sudden element of panic. “The lab! My work!”  
  
He tries to sit up, with Julian forced to exert considerable force to get him to remain stationary. “Oh, no you don’t; you need to rest, Tanin, your work will keep.”

“No, no, no, you don’t understand.” Tanin is still wide eyes, terror written across his face as he attempts to frantically shake Julian off. “If I’m not able to finish by the deadline, then the Cardassian Central command—they’ll—I have to get back to the lab—please—”  
  
“Tanin!” Julian shouts, in an attempt to snap him out of it, only to have the Cardassian thrash even more fiercely against him. “Nurse, I need a sedative!”

One of his staff rushes forward with a hypospray, and between the two of them they manage to get it in Tanin’s neck.

Tanin’s whole body tenses for a moment, and then goes slowly lax, Julian carefully extricating himself and guiding his patient back into a reclining position. “That’s it—it’s alright, Tanin.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no…” Tanin mumbles softly, and it seems though the frantic energy has abated, the terror has not. “They’re going to strip me of my commission…I’ll lose everything…my family…house…they’ll…exhile…”  
  
It’s as though something has reached up and squeezed Julian’s heart in a painful vice like grip, forcing a rush of pity through his veins. Unbidden, Garak’s face as he had cried, hunched over on his sick bed, tearing apart from the inside out because of his isolation from his people, from his planet, from his home, comes to the front of his mind.

He places a gentle hand on his patient’s shoulder. “Tanin, I promise you I won’t let them punish you. I’ll make sure Miles and Jadzia help you to finish your work as close to the deadline as possible. And we’ll tell them that the delay was my fault, that I distracted you from your work and caused the issue in the first place.”

Something minute changes in Tanin’s expression, as though a puzzle piece that he thought was going to fit hadn’t, and the terror bleeds away to open confusion. “You…you’d take the blame for me?”

“Of course, you’re my patient, I’m your doctor. I’ll do whatever is in my power to make sure you recover in the best way possible.” He offers Tanin a gentle smile. “But we’ll work all that out later; for now, rest.”  
  
Tanin doesn’t reply, simply watching Julian’s face as his eyes begin to slip closed, eventually they fall shut and his breathing evens out. Julian waits a moment more, observing the slow rise and fall of his chest, before slowly releasing his grip on Tanin’s shoulder.

He turns back to Sisko. “I’m afraid it’ll be a while before he’ll be well enough for you to talk to him, Commander.”

“Keep me informed.” Sisko spares Tanin one more glance. “I’ll be in the wardroom with the rest of the department heads discussing what happened if you need me.”

Julian nods, offering Sisko a wan smile. “Understood, sir.”

Sisko watches Julian for a moment more before returning the nod and leaving. Julian waiting until he’s sure that he isn’t going to pop back in to collapse into the nearest chair, rubbing a hand over his face with a sigh. 

Was it too much to ask for just one diplomatic assignment to go smoothly?

* * *

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“The Cardassians must have different standards than ours if that damn fool is supposed to be one of their best.”

Miles looks about ready to tear this respective Cardassian in two, and though his face is the most expressive, the rest of the room doesn’t appear to be any more warmly inclined towards their scientific guest. Dax is quiet next to the Chief, lips pursed thoughtfully, Odo is as grim and solemn as he usually is, and Kira looks like she’s barely containing an “I told you so” through sheer will and respect alone (something that Sisko, beneath the fatigue threatening to pull him under, is grateful for).

Sisko answers the outburst with nothing but a raised eyebrow. “That’s a pretty serious claim, Chief. Have you got any evidence to back it up?”  
  
“He tried to funnel the output from the power conduit for the entire lab into the electrical wiring for the mechanics at his station.” If Miles’ tone held any more contempt it would be banned from every court in the quadrant. “It’s no wonder the damn thing sent him into a wall.”

Kira rolls her eyes. “So, the Cardassians sent us an idiot to show just how invested they were in maintaining this peace accord, what a surprise.”

“I’m not so sure, Major.” Jadzia’s voice draws the rest of the room’s attention to her.  
  
Sisko leans forward. “Explain.”

“When Chief O’Brien and I went to check what had caused the panel to malfunction, I noticed that the entire thing was scorched black, except for two handprints on the outside of the panel on either side.”

Miles’ brow furrows. “Yeah, so?”

“ _So_ , if Dr. Nahar was working on the inside of the panel when it malfunctioned those handprints shouldn’t be there.” Jadzia stops there, waiting for them to see what see has.

Odo is the first to voice it. “You’re suggesting that he knew that the panel was going to malfunction.”

“Because he _knowingly_ caused it to malfunction.” Kira finishes, shaking her head as though disappointed in herself for not realizing it sooner.

Miles looks incredulous. “He did it on purpose? What would he do that for?”

“Chief,” Sisko steeples his fingers thoughtfully, “did the panel malfunction before Dr. Nahar cried out, or after?”

Miles thinks for a moment. “Well, now that you mention it, I think I remember him crying out…before.”

“That’s what Dr. Bashir said as well.” Sisko glances at each of his crew’s faces. “So, we’re either dealing with an idiot, or a genius; and I don’t think I need to tell you which is worse. Any ideas as to his potential motives?”

“It could be an amateur attempt to throw suspicion off of him.” Odo scoffs, “Maybe he’s hoping that we’ll be too busy pitying him to suspect him of anything…untoward.”

Kira shakes her head. “But it’s such a risky move, why draw so much attention to yourself?”  
  
“Perhaps attention is exactly what he wanted.” Sisko says. “When I was in the infirmary, Dr. Nahar woke up and began panicking about what the central command would do to him if he didn’t finish his work—but the moment that Dr. Bashir offered to take the blame for him it was as though his fear just...disappeared.”

“Hold on, you think he’s trying to trick Julian into getting in trouble with the central command?” Miles looks like he’s about to burst from his seat and drag Dr. Nahar away from Julian, and perhaps lay in a few good punches while he’s at it.   

Sisko inclines his head towards Miles. “Perhaps, but it was almost as if he was confused, as though he had expected _some_ comfort but what he got went far beyond his expectations.”

“I’m not surprised, Cardassians aren’t exactly known for their empathy.” Kira’s mouth twists bitterly, her eyes hardening. 

Miles shakes his head. “But why Julian? Why try and get his attention? What does he have to offer that the rest of us don’t?”

“Garak.” Jadzia offers.

“What about him?” Miles asks.

Jadzia glances around the rest of the room. “Julian is the only one of us who has any kind of deep connection to Garak. Whoever developed a connection with him could have a way of monitoring Garak remotely.” 

“Huh.” Miles thinks it over for a moment before scoffing. “It would explains why the damn Cardie’s been getting so friendly with him.”

Sisko raises an eyebrow at the pair of them. “Care to share with the rest of us, you two?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, sir, just that—” Miles waffles for a moment. “Julian had said that he thought that the Car—that Dr. Nahar might be, well…”  
  
“Flirting with him.” Jadzia finished, Miles nodding along with slightly flushed cheeks. “He wasn’t sure though; apparently Cardassians have a different way of flirting than humans—”

“Arguing.” Miles chips in, rolling his eyes.

“And the Chief and I didn’t think much of it, but given the new context of what just happened—”  
  
“Hang on, just, wait a minute,” Kira interjects, “are you saying that someone is _seducing_ Julian in order to keep an eye on _Garak_?”

“Hardly that surprising, Major.” Odo levels Kira with an even look. “As I recall, subversion and seduction were as much a part of the Bajoran underground as ammunition and assassination.”

Kira bristles. “That was different—and _Julian_?”

“There’s no accounting for taste, certainly, but given what occurred during the Bajoran gratitude festival I think there is sufficient evidence to not dismiss this theory out of hand.” Odo turns to Sisko. “With your permission, I’d like to set up a surveillance team to—”  
  
“No.”

Odo looks visibly taken aback. “Commander, I really think given all that has happened we should—”  
  
“No, Odo.” He glances around at the rest of his team. “We have to play this by the book, even if the Cardassians may not be. And that means trusting Dr. Bashir to put his duty as a Starfleet Officer first and foremost.”

“We trust Julian,” Miles interjects. “It’s _Dr. Nahar_ that—”  
  
“All the same, Chief,” Sisko stands up, “my decision stands. Keep my appraised of any new developments and find a way to alert Dr. Bashir to our suspicions, _discreetly_.”  
  
“I’ll do it.” Miles volunteers. “We’re supposed to have a holosuite session at Quark’s tonight.”

Sisko nods. “Alright, if anything changes, feel free to call another meeting; for now, dismissed.”

As he watches them leave, a dull klaxon flares back into life at the back of his mind, though this time instead of a warning, it is a reminder.

And as he stands up to leave the room as well, he resolves to make a call.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, sorry for the late update. I got caught up in exams and my writing fell to the wayside a little bit. A little bit of a shorter chapter again, but the break between chapters felt a bit more natural here.  
> Thank you for all your comments!

“Was there a particular reason that the ancient Scots were against pants?” 

Julian throws the question over to Miles as he desperately tries to rub warmth back into his legs, Hadrian’s wall and the remains of their battle fading away to reveal the holosuite. It had been perhaps a slightly easier victory than the historical version the program had been based on, but the weather was just as harsh. In fact, he’s pretty sure that his thighs were turning blue towards the end there.

Miles for his part, doesn’t look like he’s experienced a single shiver. “It wasn’t _that_ cold.”

“Speak for yourself.” Satisfied that his legs aren’t in immediate danger of falling off and that sufficient enough feeling has returned to them, so he won’t immediately topple over when he attempts to put weight on them, Julian stands up; making sure his kilt doesn’t accidentally malfunction and reveal more of him than he or Miles would ever want. “I, for one, am in desperately need of something to thaw me out; a Raktajino at the very least—”

He breaks off once he’s realized that Miles hasn’t moved and is staring at the place where the Roman commander was lying bleeding moments before. “Chief, are you alright?”

“What?” Miles looks up with a start, obviously broken out of some line of thought, and gives his head a small shake. “Oh, sorry, Julian, I was just…”

He lets out a sigh. “Look there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

It’s a lucky thing that Miles went into engineering instead of intelligence, his emotions are always easy to read, even if the cause remains unclear. Julian wonders briefly if Garak was ever like this, his emotions laid bare on his body for all to see but shakes the idea away. If he had been, there was no way that Tain would have let him out into the field—just that short meeting with the man has given him enough insight into his character to know that.

Julian furrows his brow, pretending to be confused. “What is it?”

“It’s about Dr. Nahar.” Miles makes his way over to Julian. “Jadzia took a look at it, and she thinks that the malfunction—she thinks that Dr. Nahar made the panel explode on purpose.”

Julian’s brow furrows deeper as his face scrunches up in real confusion. “Hold on, you’re saying that Dr. Nahar gave himself second degree burns and sent himself flying across a room and into a wall— _on purpose_? Why would he—?”

“Hell if I know.” Miles shakes his head. “Commander Sisko thought that maybe he was trying to draw attention to himself for some reason, and since you said you thought he’d been—” Miles clears his throat and makes vague gestures with his hands “—you know, with you, Jadzia thought that maybe you were right and that he came up with the whole thing to try and get you to… _like_ him.”

Julian stares at Miles for a moment before letting out a nervous laugh. “Hah, very funny, Chief—”

“This isn’t a joke, Julian.” Miles cuts Julian off heatedly. “Jadzia and the others think that whatever Dr. Nahar is trying to do, he’s doing it to get close to you so he can spy on Garak for— _someone_.”

Julian’s mouth and throat are dry, and he struggles to swallow, the sound of Dukat’s voice saying “ _my dear doctor_ ” slithering in and out of his ear as he struggles not to shudder.

“You need to be more careful around him,” Miles is telling him insistently, but it seems far away, “the man gave _himself_ a damn skull fracture—there’s no telling what he’s willing to do to someone else.”

He had joked about a dark assassin with Garak, but he had never really believed it, caught up in imaginations about spies and espionage that were so fantastical as to be removed from reality—convinced that there could be no danger here, on this space station, in his _home_.

He shakes out of those thoughts and gives Miles a nod. “I understand…thank you, Miles, for telling me; I’ll be sure to take extra precautions.”

“You’d better—can’t imagine anyone else willing to take your place in our darts games.”

Julian smiles. “Or stand knee deep in mud with you.”

“You’d be surprised—Keiko would come with me if I asked.”

“No she wouldn’t; not only that, you’d end up on the couch for the rest of your marriage—or time, whichever ended first—for suggesting it.”

Miles chuckles, “You’re right,” and clasps Julian on the shoulder “drink?”

“I’d love to, but I have to go through some medical files for an upcoming ambassador’s visit to make sure we can accommodate them.” He offers Miles an apologetic smile. “Tomorrow?”

Miles sighs. “You young people, all work.”

“Says the man who had to be sedated in order to enforce sick leave.”

“It was a cold—hardly the end of the world.”

“It was a particularly nasty strain of flu and you’re damn lucky that _someone_ thought to check on you when you didn’t turn up for darts.”

“If _someone_ hadn’t been such a busybody, I’d have fought it off and managed to finish repairing the coil I was in the middle of working on.”

Julian gives him a look, arching his eyebrow slightly.

“Alright, maybe it was a little worse than that.” Miles reluctantly mutters. 

“A little?” Julian’s eyebrow is arched so high it’s in danger of nearly flying off his face. “When I found you, you were trying to use your coffee cup as a screwdriver.”

Miles shoots him a look. “Didn’t you say you had paperwork to do?”

“Did I?” Julian struggles not to laugh, smile curling his lips despite himself, before patting Miles on the shoulder. “Thanks for the battle, Chief; I’ll see you tomorrow for darts.”

Miles grunts in reply and Julian makes his way out of Quark’s and towards his quarters, each step drawing the warmth of their conversation from him and allowing the news delivered to him to settle cold and heavy in his stomach—and by the time he is lying down in his bunk, it feels as though he has swallowed an entire iceberg, filling his lungs with water from the inside out.

He gets up once to check if he’s missed any transmissions, desperate for a way to empty the cold from him, but there is nothing and he stares at the ceiling for hours more before sleep finally sneaks up and steals his mind away. 

* * *

Tanin is certified to leave the infirmary shortly before Julian arrives for his shift the next morning, and he finds himself frustrated at the relief that pulses through him when he finds out. So, he throws himself into his work again, though this time he’s sure not to take any of it out on his staff, apologizing for his behaviour the day before multiple times. He thinks about going down to see Tanin throughout his shift, but something keeps him at his computer terminal every time; and he’s not entirely sure if it’s fear, or shame at being so blind to Tanin’s subversions. 

His shift flies by quickly, and he’s about to make his way down to Quark’s when he gets a message on his PADD from Miles—turns out there’s been some sort of disaster in OPS with the charting computers, he’s not really sure; with all the profanity Miles is using it’s hard to completely understand what has happened. But from what he gathers at least one ensign has now had the fear of The Chief instilled in them, and he takes a moment to pray for their mortal souls before consigning himself to a night with nothing to distract from the various scenarios racing along the tracks of his mind, as well as the fact that Garak has yet to contact him after their— _discussion_ yesterday. 

He considers sending Jadzia a message or just heading to Quark’s by himself but decides against it; he’s tired and not in the mood for loud. So, he makes his way from the infirmary back towards his quarters, resolving himself to sitting in his quarters attempting to read while pretending he isn’t waiting for his computer to announce an incoming transmission from Vulcan.

However, the door to his quarters is not how he left it.

Sitting just in front of the doors is a white rectangular box, and as he draws closer, he can see a card tied to it with string, where his name is written in scrawling black ink.

His heart stops, and before he really realizes it he has his pocket tricorder out and is scanning the box and its contents for—anything. His mind is racing with a million different poisons and bombs that the deceptively simple white cardboard packaging could contain—a million different deaths.

But after a moment, the tricorder beeps an all-clear, and Julian feels his heart beat resume.

Gingerly, as though it still may explode at any moment, he leans down and picks it up; shifting its light weight from side to side before bringing it into his quarters. 

He places it on the coffee table, and scans it two more times for good measure, before carefully untying the string and turning over the card with his name on it to reveal more writing.  
  
_Dear Julian,  
_

_Please allow me to thank you for your help during my accident with this gift_  
and, if you are amenable, dinner tonight in my quarters at 20 hundred hours.  
I’ll be sure to show you a world of Cardassian culinary delight.  
  
With Warm Regards,  
\- Tanin

He puts down the card, before turning back to the package, still eying it as though it is a beast that will snap its jaws at any moment. Slowly, he opens the box to reveal a bundle of deep blue fabric, hesitating for a moment before scanning it with his tricorder, which once again beeps an all clear.

He pulls out the outfit, holding it up and examining it. It is a one-piece pant suit, combining an off the shoulder shirt with a pair of long pants that look like they go down to just above his feet, with gold embroidered Cardassian markings along the ends of the sleeves, pants and the top of the shirt. The material is slightly opaque, not quite see-through but thinner than what he usually wears, and he knows with disquieting surety that despite never telling Tanin his size that it will fit him.

“Computer, what’s the time?”

 _“Current time on Deep Space Nine is 19 hundred hours.”_  
  
There’s plenty of time to get dressed and take Tanin up on his offer, if he chooses to.

It doesn’t take long to pull on the outfit, and soon he’s standing in front of the mirror and examining the way it falls over his body. The deep blue compliments his skin tone nicely, and he can almost hear Garak’s voice in his ear as he examines the way the tightly fitted pants conform to his body, and the casual looseness of the long sleeves.

_“Congratulations, my dear, you’ve finally found something that at least passes for fashionable”._

The smile is on his face before he’s entirely aware of it, and something painful twinges in his chest.

He glances at the computer on his desk, hands itching with the urge to check, but he holds them in place, jaw clenching—

—And then his computer beeps out a message

_“Incoming transmission from suite 72 of the Vulcan Intergalactic Visitor Residency.”_

Julian feels his heart leap into his throat and struggles to swallow around it.

_Garak_

He hesitates, almost letting the transmission go answered, before heading over to his desk.  
  
“On screen.”

Garak’s face comes into view and something in Julian’s chest tightens, their last conversation hanging heavily between them, a gap between them farther than any physical distance could ever be. He’s looking away from the screen, and appears to be writing something, so Julian clears his throat slightly and makes the first move.

“Garak.”  

“Doctor.” Garak puts down his stylus and turns his full attention towards the screen. “I—”

He stops, almost frozen in place, and for the first time Julian sees what Garak looks like when he is truly and utterly stunned.

Julian stops himself from looking over the outfit self-consciously, but just barely. “Don’t tell me I’ve managed to be unfashionable by both Earth _and_ Cardassasian standards.”

“ _Unfashionable_ —” The ridges around Garak’s eyes have darkened to a deep blue tinge as have the ridges on his neck. “Doctor, if we are to continue this conversation, I must— _insist_ —that you make yourself decent.”

Julian blinks in confusion. “ _Decent_? What on earth do you mean—”

“ _Doctor, please_.” Garak has turned slightly away from the screen and even raised his hand in front of his eyes.

Julian steps backs from the screen, baffled, and heads into his bedroom, quickly grabbing his robe from off its hooks and tying it securely around him before heading back to the computer.

“There, now will you tell me what was so indecent about my outfit?”

Garak gives him a slight glance and once assured that he’s now presentable turns back to the view screen, though his ridges remain tinged slightly with that deep blue. “My apologies, Doctor, I would have thought your new _acquaintance_ would have informed you about the significance of revealing one’s shoulders and collarbone in Cardassian society.”

Julian feels his jaw clench as that familiar anger begins to flare up at Garak’s tone. “Well, as luck would have it, _Tanin_ hasn’t; leaving you more than free to do so in his place.”

“How to put it in terms you will understand…wearing an outfit without shoulders on Cardassia is akin to…a Vulcan giving out handshakes. To do so is very…” Garak trails off, a hint of something sharp in his eyes. “ _Audacious_.”

Understanding blooms through Julian’s mind, and an entirely new anger takes root, with a different target to boot. “I see.”

“How interesting that your new… _paramour_ forget to tell you about the significance of the outfit when he gave it to you.”

The accusation lacing every syllable of his words stings like salt on an open wound, hurt rising up to the surface and spilling over.

“Do you honestly think I’m sleeping with him?”

He’s not sure if he entirely meant those words to come out, all he knows is that he is angry and frustrated at the fact that he has been made to play the part of the fool in this little drama, and suddenly he desperately wants to know Garak’s answer.

Garak’s expression doesn’t flicker. “Far be it for me to guess at your… _indulgences_ , doctor.”

“Of course.” The bitter smile twists his lips as sour disappointment spreads through him. “You know, it’s lucky that you’re just a tailor, plain, simple, Garak.

Garak sneers. “And why is that, doctor?”

“Because a spy would never miss something so blindingly obvious.” Julian replies, his heart twisting painfully as all the puzzle pieces finally click into place in his mind.

He wants more than anything for Garak to be sitting across from him with enough warmth in his eyes to power a thousand suns, close enough that their hands brush each time they take another bite out of their meals, close enough that he could reach forward to link their fingers together if he so chose, close enough to lean forward and smirk at him while delivering another devastating counter in their ongoing rapport, close enough that he could press their lips softly together and laugh as Garak dryly makes some comment about people talking—

But Garak is thousands of miles away, on an arid desert planet which hoards feelings like water, leaving those that come from away parched on their doorstep. And Garak’s face denotes nothing of the warm sands around him, and Julian feels like a boat caught in the fiercest of tempests, with his only harbour out of reach and the lighthouse out of oil.

“And just what, precisely, doctor, am I missing?”  

Julian takes off the robe and tosses it on the floor. “Goodbye, Garak, I’m late for a dinner.”

“Doctor—”

He turns from the screen and heads towards the door. “Computer, end transmission.”

“ _Julian_ —”

_“Transmission ended.”  
_

* * *

It takes minutes to reach Tanin’s quarters from his own, and with each step he feels that new anger extend its thick vines throughout him—to the point where when he finally reaches the scientist’s quarters it almost feels as though it’s choking him.

When the door slides open to reveal Tanin’s quarters, they also reveal Tanin, standing there and smiling widely and innocently at his guest.  
  
“Julian! I’m so happy you decided to accept my invitation, please come in.”

He steps through the threshold as Tanin waves him in, feeling a fresh pulse of anger as he takes in the décor. The quarters have been set up to the very pinnacle of earth romantic culture, there are candles on the table, along with rose petals scattered across its entirety, and a bottle of something that looks suspiciously like Romulan ale is one ice in a bucket beside it.

“I hope you came hungry, I’ve prepared a number of my favourite dishes from Cardassia—”

“Let’s skip the theatrics, shall we?” Julian turns to face Tanin, who is suddenly holding himself very carefully still, as though he is a rabbit in the sights of a crosshairs, or a lion steadying himself before the pounce. “I know what this is all about.”

He walks towards the table, tracing his fingers along the roses. “At first, I told myself that all those comments and slight touches were nothing, just more cultural differences.” He looks at Tanin, practically daring him to contradict him “But that’s not true, is it?”

“You’ve been trying to establish some sort of… _relationship_ with me the entire time you’ve been here, even hurting yourself just to draw my attention closer to you, and ending in _this_ : sending me an outrageous, entirely inappropriate, outfit and preparing this clearly romantic meal.” He gestures towards the table before turning back to Tanin. 

“Now, what I don’t understand, is _why_.”

He moves towards him in carefully measured steps. “Why, out of all the people on this station, did you decide to try and align yourself with me. Clearly, Dukat insisted I be the one to look after you for a reason.”

“Julian, I assure you that Gul Dukat had only the purest of intentions—”

“I’ll go ahead and spare us both some time by ignoring that lie, shall I?” Julian cuts him off dryly before resuming his walk towards him. “See, I’ve thought about it and the only thing that really distinguishes me from the rest of the officers here, is my relationship with Garak.”

“So, I’m going to ask you just once, Tanin, give you a chance to come clean here and now before we take this to Constable Odo’s office.” Julian stares Tanin down. “What is Dukat planning to do to Garak?”

Tanin holds himself completely still, and Julian does the same, keeping his gaze even, before the scientist crumples into himself and slides down onto the couch next to him.

“He wants to destroy him.”

Julian forces his heartrate to remain steady. “Why? He’s already exiled him, what’s to be gained in—?”

“It’s not about _gaining_ anything.” Tanin shakes his head. “He… _hates_ him…hates him more than anything in the quadrant, this galaxy, maybe even in this universe—he wants him to _suffer_.”  

Julian holds himself in place, swallowing down the panic threatening to rise up within him.

“And how do I fit into that?” 

“He’s seen how the two of you interact—the… _interest_ he’s taken in you, and it’s no secret that you went to the head of the Obsidian Order to bargain for Garak’s life.”

Tanin raises his head to meet Julian’s gaze. “He wants him to truly be in exile—isolated and alone from even the tiniest bit of comfort or camaraderie. And as long as you remain by his side—”

“So you were sent to, what, _seduce_ me away from Garak?” Julian feels a laugh, whether simply nervous or entirely hysterical he’s not quite sure, threatening to spill forth from his lips. “Make me so “enraptured” by you that I forgot my friends—?”

“Not immediately, I was to turn you against him gradually as our… _relationship_ progressed.” Tanin stands up, his strength apparently returned. “A casual remark here, a relevant anecdote there, all with the end goal of festering a hate inside of you to rival Dukat’s.”   

Julian lets out a humorless chuckle in order to try and hide the shiver threatening to run down his back, the hair on his neck standing on edge.

“Garak was right, this little charade of Dukat’s is duller than it is devious.”

He meets Tanin’s eyes with a steely sharpness. “Now you listen to me, when you report back to Dukat, tell him that it doesn’t matter what he throws at me—because I will never abandon Garak, or anyone on Deep Space Nine for that matter.” He closes the distance between them with a few steps, lowering his voice to a stage whisper and keeping his hands carefully lax at his sides. “And should the thought of trying to hurt Garak ever happen to cross his mind again—well, let’s just say that as far as the Hippocratic oath is concerned, I can be rather sporadic in my adherence to it.”

Julian offers Tanin a bitter smile, enough fierceness behind it to render it almost meaningless. 

“Goodbye, Dr. Nahar, it’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance.”

Tanin doesn’t respond, dropping his eyes to the floor, a slight tremble beginning to overtake his body. Julian waits a moment to see if he will act at all before stalking past him to the door.

“I’m sorry.”

Julian halts, before whirling to face Tanin, his control slipping. “You’re sorry—?!”

The slight hissing just beneath his right ear throws him for a moment, as does the sudden closeness of Tanin, his grip on Julian’s shoulder painful as he holds him in place but his eyes—

His eyes are wide and blue and full of a desperate panic, and Julian finds himself wondering if Garak ever looked at someone like this; like the embodiment of a lone vessel caught between a black hole and a warship.

“I'm sorry.” Tanin is telling him and Julian is trying to fight his way out of his grip, trying to shake him off and force himself to get out get out get out and away from this room and the way that his vision is beginning to blur around the edges but his body _won’t_ move. “You are…I never imagined that you would be so…”

Tanin is guiding them carefully to the couch, pushing Julian down and kneeling beside him on the floor, hands on his arms to hold him in place, which would be more necessary if Julian could force any part of his damn body to just—move. “I didn’t understand why he thought you were a threat before, but you—”  
  
_Tanin._  
  
Julian tries to say, but it comes out as a string of incomprehensible syllables, his tongue heavy in his mouth, lips numb.   

“Shh, it’s okay, Julian.” A flash of grey scaled hand appears of the edges of his vision. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise but—”

Someone tries to take a deep breath but chokes on a sob.

“You don’t understand the kind of power he has, Julian, if I don’t do what he wants...he’ll take away everything that I have—all that I’ve built with my life will be reduced to ash and I can’t—I won’t let anything stand in the way of protecting that; not even someone as good as you.”

The words should be making sense, they should be clicking into place in his mind, but they slip into the stream of sounds and colours swimming around him. There’s a slight vibration somewhere near his face, and a thought that drifts in and out of reach whispers that perhaps it’s his throat—that perhaps some of those sounds are coming from him.

“Shh…it’s alright, Julian; just sleep, everything will be better in the morning.” 

Sleep?

Every sensation is heightened and screaming at him, but all the inputs are impossible to decode and isolate, and his mind is flooded with the excess of data, unable to discern what to amplify and what to fade out.

“Julian, please you have to calm down, your heart rate—”

He tries to focus on the sound, and the sickening too fast thrumming in his ears leaves him feeling even more nauseated when he manages to grasp it before it slides away.

“I don’t understand, this isn’t—this shouldn’t be happening—”

But Tanin works with the coding of _machines,_ not humans, and even then he is not— 

He is not.

And he is drowning, the stream pulling him under and away but unlike real water there is no sudden rush of relief as his lungs finally stop screaming for air and just give in—they are burning and thrashing for air desperately and he needs—something—a touchstone—a measure to keep his head above the surface amid these ravaging currents.

“—should have just rendered you unconscious, I don’t understand, your pupils—”

There is a flash of grey and black amid the swirling colors, and a brilliant blue eye comes into focus.

_Garak._

He focuses on each individual letter, sounding them out over and over again, and then says the name, repeating it over and over—not sure if it’s his lips that are framing the sounds, or just his mind.

Someone is talking, their voice trying to be low and soothing, but the panic ringing through it overwhelms any calm he could gather from it. He lets it wash over him, forcing himself to repeat his mantra.

“—need your clearance code to access your medical files, Julian please I need you to focus—”

_G.a.r.a.k._

“I’m not—Julian you have to give me the code I need—”

_Garak._

“Maybe—maybe the dizzying effect is just…lasting a little longer for you—yes, that’s it—just—keep breathing—”

_G.a.r.a.k._

“It’s fine—everything is going to be fine—Julian, do you understand? It’s all going to be just fine—"

_Garak._

“Everything will be fine.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the lack of pants are discussed yet again, Quark has his first speaking line and the other half of our dynamic duo returns.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter involves implied/inferred/reference sexual assault, attempted kidnapping, and non consensual body painting.  
> Please do not read if any of these trigger you in any way.

“Can I get you anything? Romulan ale, Kanar, Tarkalean Tea, Root Beer, a pair of pants?”

Miles shoots daggers at the barkeep. “Very funny, Quark.”

“I’m just asking!” Quark throws up his hands placatingly. “Not that your legs aren’t a fine sight to see, Chief, but you’re looking a little cold over there.”

Miles shrugs, taking a seat at the bar and motioning for a bear. “I’m fine, Scotland is going to be colder than the station anyhow—when and if Julian decides to show up.”

“Why you two hue-mahns prefer to spend your time in the holosuites knee deep in freezing mud and on the receiving end of all those sharp objects, I’ll never understand.” Quark shakes his head, pouring Mile’s favorite ale into a pint glass. “Now what’s wrong with a good old fashioned Riza spa program? Warmth, relaxation and plenty of attractive… _attendants_.”

Miles gives Quark his best glower. “I’m _married_ , Quark. _Happily_ married.”

“So you can’t order off the menu,” Quark leers at him as he hands over the glass, “doesn’t mean you can’t _look_.”

Miles lets out a disgusted noise, shaking his head, just in time for Jadzia to hear it as she slides into the seat next to his, raising her eyebrow slightly.

“Good morning to you too, Chief.” She nods towards the pint. “Starting the party early, huh?”

Miles shakes his head. “You’d be drinking too if you had the night I had.”

“I gather that the rumours of the... _profanity_ being spewed forth in OPS weren’t that exaggerated then.” Jadzia motions towards their barkeep. “Raktajino, please, Quark.”

Miles growls into his pint. “Damn incompetent—you’d think Starfleet’d send us at least one ensign with some sense—”

“Pardon me.”

The three of them turn to look at the intrusion, surprise lighting up their faces.

Standing there, as though he has never left, is Garak.

“Garak; welcome back,” Jadzia is the first to regain her composure, likely from centuries of practice, “I didn’t realize you were coming back from Vulcan so soon—”

“Wonderful as it is to see you all again, my dears, I’m afraid I’m rather in a hurry.” He keeps his gaze focused on Miles. “Chief, where is the good doctor?”

Miles raises an eyebrow. “Which one?”

“Please don’t try to be clever with me, my dear, you’ll find you’re not very good at it.” Garak motions towards the kilt. “I’m referring to your partner in fashion crime.”

Miles bristles. “This is a traditional—”

“Julian has the day off today, Garak, like the rest of us.” Jadzia cuts in smoothly, before the argument can begin, “He’s probably still asleep.”

Quark rolls his eyes. “He’s definitely late. The Chief’s been scaring off the rest of my customers with his legs for almost a half hour.”

“It’s been that long?” Miles drains the last of his beer and stands up. “Right, that’s it, I’m going to go drag that little—”

“When was the last time you heard from him?”

Garak’s voice is sharp and hard, and entirely unlike him, enough to make Miles do a double take.

“I sent him a message telling him that I wouldn’t be able to make our darts game at around…18:30 last night? The computers in OPS—”

 “And you haven’t heard from him since?”

“Garak,” his eyes shift towards Jadzia, who has stood up and is beginning to make her way over to him. “What’s going on?”

The tailor waves away the question. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to get into the details, lieutenant, if you can’t enlighten me as to the dear doctor’s location perhaps you can be so useful as to tell me where Dr. Nahar’s quarters are?”

“What do you need us for? Can’t you just use some of your old codes to find out?” Miles mocks.

Garak’s smile could cut steel. “I’m afraid ever since our little miner’s rebellion incident, my command codes have been a little finicky,” he cuts Miles off before sound can leave his open lips, “and even if I were someone with the distasteful ability to hack into the main system of DS9, it appears that someone has made the executive decision not to enter in which quarters have been so graciously loaned to our lovely guest.”

“Why do you want to talk to Dr. Nahar?” Jadzia asks.

“Frankly, my dear, I fail to see why you need to know that.” Garak snaps. “Now, can you tell me what I need to know or are you simply going to continue your inane attempts at interrogation?”

Jadzia raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, _frankly_ , Garak, if I’m going to be taking you to see a delegate from our new ally, I need to know that you’re not planning on doing something untoward; like stabbing him at the earliest opportunity.”

A tense silence falls over them for a moment, Garak’s jaw clenching, and Miles shifting slightly forward as though ready to jump out of his seat to Jadzia’s defense, and Quark not-so-subtly moving his more expensive ale beneath the counter.

However, Garak throws up his hands placatingly and the tension leaves them all in a rush of relief. “As you wish, lieutenant; I last spoke to Dr. Bashir less than an hour after our dear Chief here, and when I did he left our conversation rather…abruptly, declaring he was late for a dinner with his…charge. And despite the fact that I have sent him numerous messages since his untimely departure, he has yet to reply, which would seem to suggest that he has yet to leave the scientist’s quarters; hence why I am looking to find out where those quarters are.”

“You must be joking.” Miles scoffs in disbelief. “I told Julian just how dangerous Nahar is, why on earth would he go and have dinner with him?”

Jadzia watches Garak carefully, and so she sees the tiny twitch of guilt cross Garak’s features before disappearing; so miniscule that only someone with her experience of watching people would have had any hope of discerning it. “The two of you fought, didn’t you?”

“We may have had a… _minor_ disagreement—but I don’t see what that has to do with you telling me where Dr. Nahar’s quarters are—”

“Garak.” Jadzia interrupts. “Have you considered that Julian just—doesn’t want to see you right now?”

The tailor glares at Jadzia with all the warmth of a long dead sun. “It crossed my mind, and he can continue his juvenile avoidance, if that’s what this is, once I’ve ascertained that he is lying low as opposed to lying dead in a vent somewhere.” 

Jadzia watches him for a moment more before bringing her hand up and tapping her COM badge. “Computer, locate Dr. Julian Bashir.”

_“Doctor Bashir is on the Promenade.”_

Miles glances around, as though expecting the man in question to pop out from behind somewhere. “Where—”

“Honestly, I’m beginning to see why it took the Federation so long to make it out to this sector.” Garak holds up Julian’s COMM, and locator, badge “If it were that easy, then I wouldn’t be needing your help, would I?” 

Miles frowns. “How did you—”

“When it seemed as though the doctor was refusing to answer my calls, I deemed it necessary to enter his quarters in order to ascertain his wellbeing.” Garak keeps his gaze locked with Jadzia’s. “Now, for the last time, tell me where Dr. Nahar—"

Jadzia doesn’t wait for Garak to finish, breaking into a sprint towards the turbolift, Garak and, after a moment’s shock, Miles following right behind her.

Quark watches them go, waiting a moment before casually returning his liquor to its usual place, and continuing to wipe down his glasses with a shake of his head. “Hue-mahns.”

* * *

At some point, he lost the meaning of the name.

He knows, dimly, that his lips are still framing it, and the sound is still being pushed forth from his lungs, but the meaning has been drowned in everything. 

There’s a sensation, too much to the point of painful, in his right shoulder, trailing in spiraling lines down his left arm, that drowned out all the others for a moment; but just a moment. And in that brief reprieve he heard that voice again— _Shhh, it’s alright…you’re going to be…I…I’m sorry Julian…so sorry…_

Before it got sucked right up and away by the rapids tumbling and thrashing him about.

He knows that he must be doing something wrong, because the voice keeps coming back and pleading with him for something— _need your medical access…this shouldn’t be happening…I was so careful…why_ —

But even if he could force his lips to frame what the voice wants, he’s afraid if he lets go he’ll lose the name entirely, and the one thing that’s keeping his head just barely above the tides will turn to dust in his hands.

True pain, bright and brilliantly sharp lights up the left side of his face, and he feels his body shaking as something sharp digs in forcefully on each of his forearms, the voice trickling in again— _Julian, listen to me you have to snap out of this—your body—it can’t take much more—_  

But then it goes again, and he is alone with the name.

G.a.r.a.k.

Garak.

* * *

“We are going to handle this my way.”

Garak levels a look of mock surprise at Jadzia. “Of course, lieutenant, you are the Starfleet Officer after all—”

“I mean it, Garak.” Jadzia cuts him off as the turbolift doors open and they step out into the corridor. “There’s still a chance there’s another explanation for all this, so until we know for sure we’re going to treat Dr. Nahar as a witness, not a perpetrator.”

Miles scoffs.

“I assure you; I bear Dr. Nahar no ill will. My goal is simply to uncover what has become of our dear doctor and to remedy the situation.” Garak smiles with too much teeth and Jadzia would fight the point further but if they discover what she thinks has happened to be true then Garak will have to fight her for the first punch.

They reach Dr. Nahar’s quarters quickly, and she presses the call button, waiting a moment before pressing it again when there is no response, and then again.

_“Sorry, yes, hello?”_

 “Dr. Nahar? It’s Lietenant Dax, would you mind if I came in?”

_“Oh—um—no—I mean, certainly—one moment lietenant.”_

The slight nervous waver to the voice makes Jadzia’s gut clench, but she keeps calm outwardly, breathing through the feeling.

The door slides open a moment later to reveal Dr. Nahar, who looks the most disheveled she has seen him throughout their time working together, his hair is in disarray, sticking up this way and that, and his clothes look like he slept in them, wrinkled and sticking to parts of him.

“Lieutenant, I—” His eyes go impossibly wide as he takes in the other two standing there, particularly Garak, who his eyes seem to be stuck on. “I—I didn’t realize that you had others with you."

Jadzia offers him an apologetic smile. “I apologize, Doctor, but we can’t seem to—”

“Alright,” Garak pushes past her and Dr. Nahar into the room, glancing around as he does so before turning back to level Dr. Nahar with his gaze, “where is he?” 

Dr. Nahar’s face seems to have gone from its usual pale grey to something closer to bone white, his body almost frozen in place. “What—where is—who?”

“Garak—” Miles starts but Jadzia holds him back, the two of them following Garak into the room and letting the door close behind them. They would have words about not following her plan later, but for now, it would be unwise to present a divided front.

“Please, don’t test my patience, _Tanin_ , regrettably I seem to be running short of it at the moment.” Garak steps towards the doctor, who seems to try and shrink into himself as though if he tries hard enough, he can will himself out of existence. “And clearly, Dukat has done you the courtesy of informing you about my…persuasive capabilities.” 

Dr. Nahar’s head is shaking, but so is the rest of him. “I don’t—Dr. Bashir came over for dinner last night, but I haven’t seen him—”

“Dr. Bashir?” Garak takes another step towards Tanin, and Jadzia shifts slightly, getting ready to place herself between the two of them. “Last I heard, you were referring to him as _Julian_.”

“And as far as I remember,” Jadzia interjects, taking a step forward so that she and Garak are now flanking Dr. Nahar,  “none of us said that Julian was the one we were looking for.”

Dr. Nahar glances between the two of them, turning his face to Jadzia but keeping his focus on Garak. “Well, I—I just assumed—”

“Dukat was really scrapping the bottom of the barrel when he got you, wasn’t he?” Garak drawls, amusement rippling through his voice, but it makes the hair on the back of Jadzia’s neck stand up. 

And by the way that Dr. Nahar has impossibly, paled even further, she would bet latinum that he experienced a similar sensation. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Please, don’t try to lie to me, you’re terrible at it.” Garak takes another step forward, and this time Dr. Nahar attempts to get away by taking a shaking step backward, or to run right into Miles, who has moved to cut off his only escape route. “Last chance; where is Dr. Bashir?”

For a moment, it looks as though Dr. Nahar will continue denying he knows anything about it, and then it’s as though the last thread holding him up finally snaps, and he crumples into himself; slowly raising his hand and pointing towards the door to his bunk.

Jadzia gives Miles a look and he answers with a nod, before guiding Dr. Nahar over to the couching and forcing him to sit down; standing over him to make sure he doesn’t attempt to flee.

She turns back to the door, Garak a few footsteps ahead of her and already pressing the button to open it—

\--And then she almost runs into the back of him as he stops in the middle of the doorway, frozen, and it takes her considerable effort to push around him and enter the room where she sees him.  
  
“ _Julian_.”

His eyes are staring unseeingly at the ceiling, and when she rushes to his side, she can see that his pupils have taken over his iris, practically none of that warm brown left. He is shirtless, wearing some strange blue pants she’s never seen him in before, and when she goes to take his pulse, she notices the swirling blue tattoo curling upwards from his heart and over his shoulder and down his left arm. There’s also a blue smudge in the middle of his forehead, faded compared to the dark bruise that has bloomed over the right side of his face,  as well as pinpricks of dried blood in half moon shapes on either side of his harms, as though someone’s nails had dug in there.

She forces herself to speak. “Julian? Julian, can you hear me?”

He shifts slightly, hair sticking up this way and that, but doesn’t look at her or otherwise acknowledge her presence; his lips are moving though, and as she leans in closer she can hear his voice—raspy and weak—repeating the same thing, over and over.  
  
“r.a.k. Garak. G.a.r.a.k. Garak. G.a.r.a—”

Her heart clenches in her chest and she taps her COMM badge. “Dax to OPS, emergency medical transport for two to the infirmary.”

_“Use of transport, authorized. Prepare to energize.”_

She slips her hand under to support Julian’s body, a fresh wave of anger rolling over her when he flinches at her touch.

“Energize.”

As they fade away, she fails to notice that Garak is no longer standing in the doorway.

* * *

He remembers the day he first saw him, and the first thought he had about him.

_This will be easy._

He’s sitting in the corner of the replimat, tucked away with a PADD and a glass of that sickeningly sweet tea, absorbed in whatever it is he’s reading. He’s heard whispers that the rest of the station’s staff haven’t welcomed him all too kindly, something about the young upstart being a little grating on the nerves of the more experienced staff. Which is possibly why he is entertaining his PADD for lunch and not any of the other officers milling around.

It doesn’t really matter why he’s alone; it just makes it all the more easier for Garak to swoop in and introduce, insinuate and intrigue the doctor into seeking him out again in the future. 

He wants a connection in the upper staff and this weak link in the chain could provide him with one, and if not, a short tumble into bunk together will be more than satisfactory—the doctor is, like the majority of the humanoids on the station, exceptionally warm blooded, just sitting next to him he can feel the heat radiating off his body, and on this station where the cold seeps in bone deep he finds himself starving for it. 

And if he has to have sex with him just for the opportunity to curl around that warmth, well, that’s hardly a burden. The man is tall and lean, and he imagines it wouldn’t take much to convince him to allow Garak to press him down and have his way with him—and there’s something to be said about the man’s wide eyed approach to everything that…speaks to him.

But then he’s swept up in the Klingon sisters and Tahno Los’ plots, and the opportunity to make a connection comes up and passes, and for two minutes he thinks that the doctor’s wide eyed nervousness has overcome his intrigue—

But then he shows up and Garak hustles him into one of his changing rooms, feeling the brief snatches of warmth as his hands push against him.

And then there’s the chance that once this is all over and done with that the doctor will think twice before allowing himself to spend any amount of time in Garak’s company, but that is quickly proven wrong by the man seeking him out at regular opportunities; eager to learn his opinions and see if he can catch him in a lie about his past or his connections.

It’s fun, engaging, in a way that Garak hasn’t felt for a long time, and he enjoys talking circles around the doctor, waiting him to slide the pieces into place and realize, or sometimes not realize, what he’s really saying. He finds he has to dumb things down at first, but the doctor quickly picks up the pace and rules of the game, and the sporadic encounters begin to consolidate into lunch once a week, and before he has quite realized it, he is spending the rest of the week looking forward to their meals together.

He still hungers for that warmth, and finds himself idly imagining the ways in which he could make the doctor fall apart beneath his fingers as he hems dresses and takes measurements, but he’s content to play a longer game—that way he might be able to partake in the pleasure of that warmth more than once.

And then comes the boy, and the way that Julian’s face has scrunched up in concern and outrage, warms hands steadying his arm, and the delicious opportunity to ruin one of Dukat’s attempts of deviousness.

When he watches Julian tear down any chance of Dukat’s little power grab, he feels something akin to pride spread through him, and finds himself watching the way the doctor holds himself, the fierceness of his eyes and mouth as he rips down the whole charade with Garak— _because_ of Garak—standing behind him; and thinks that maybe, maybe he ought to increase his time table when he comes to convincing the doctor to tumble into bed with him, the ghost of the warmth of his hands causing a slight sliver to run down his spine.

He’s considering sending Julian a message to join him for a celebratory dinner in his quarters, sitting in his shop and humming to himself as he sews, when the disgraced Gul of the hour wanders in.

“What a lovely little place you have here, Garak.” Dukat traces his fingers along one of the fabric holders. “Hard to believe you didn’t betray Cardassia for it sooner."

Garak hums. “Well, I suppose you’d know, after all, you’re the one with a family history of state failures.”

It’s so easy to get under Dukat’s skin, laughably so, and Garak shakes his head at the wild twist of fate that has allowed someone like Dukat to retain his power and status while he has been reduced to _this_.

“You’ve certainly made an impression on the people here, though you were always good at wrapping people around your fingers, weren’t you, Garak?” Dukat lets too much of the anger playing along his spine leak into his words, an amateur mistake, and Garak is holding in a chuckle when it dies in his chest at Dukat’s next words. “Especially that doctor…Bashir, was it? He seems like quite the valuable friend.”

He feels colder than he has in a long time, like there’s ice in his veins, and he can’t quite catch his breath. “I find him to be a most adequate acquaintance.”

“Indeed? I found him rather…fascinating. Should the opportunity arise when the relationship between the Federation and Cardassia has warmed enough to allow for the exchange of ideas and technology, perhaps with a conference, well,” Dukat smiles and Garak wants to rip out every one of his teeth,  “I’ll be sure to put Dr. Bashir’s name on the list.”

Garak places his fabric down, fabric alterer tucked carefully away up his sleeve, and stands up, making his way over to Dukat. “I wouldn’t be too quick to add his name, he’s rather new to the field—seems to prefer frontline medicine as opposed to the more formal aspects of the field.”

“All the same I’m sure Cardassia could only benefit from having a mind such as his… _visit_.”

The last time Garak was this close to somebody he was draining the life from their eyes and only the barest of control is keeping him from doing the same to Dukat; the knowledge that if Commander Sisko finds out that he bled out a senior official of the Cardassian military on the promenade then his lunches with the doctor may be in serious jeopardy helping him maintain that control.

“I suggest, my dear Dukat, that if you wish to make it back home with the last shreds of your dignity intact, you should leave sooner rather than later.”

Dukat snorts. “Or what?”

“Or your wife may soon discover the kind of… _entertainment_ that you used to enjoy on Terok Nor.”

Dukat’s lips curl into a snarl, and he turns on his heel and marches towards the shop door, pausing before turning to deliver no doubt a final crushing remark. “Make no mistake, Garak; our business isn’t finished.”

“Of course not; that would require it to have started.” Garak grins with all his teeth until Dukat storms out of sight.

After he sits back down, and struggles to keep his fingers from trembling as he sends Dr. Bashir a request to meet for lunch the next day. There is a fear, low and deep, snaking through his stomach, and he hates that Dukat is the one that put it there; hates even more that he can’t banish it—can’t make the decision to simply cut the doctor out of his hea— _life_ —entirely.

It is a weakness—the kind that Tain—that _Garak_ —would never have tolerated and he resolves to pull back, distance himself slowly more and more until he simply disappears from the doctor’s life without him noticing it. 

And then he meets him the next morning, watches his brow crease in confusion as he tries to work through the last of his questions, sees him drink his tea and make that sound that humans do to indicate that they just had a good drink or that they’re thinking and that Cardassian’s use to indicate another kind of thirst, finds himself pulled into easy banter, and with a wave of ice cold shock knows that he can’t. He can’t pull himself away from the doctor, and even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to do so for very long. These meetings, these exchanges, they’ve become the only thing that gives him life anymore, the one bright star in an endless black void; and if he tears apart their association he might as well tear the order’s implant from his skull as well.

He leaves earlier than he meant to, under the guise of growing tired with the doctor’s questions and finds even that is harder than it should be; and he hates himself for it.

And then, irony of ironies, the implant begins to tear itself apart anyway.

It would have been easy for the doctor to walk away—what ties them together other than their brief associations and lunches? Humans don’t place the same value on arguments as Cardassians do, they prefer shallow comments about appearance and skills rather than the thrill of a challenging debate—the doctor has no way of knowing how deeply Garak has grown to covet their interactions. There have been others, he knows, that have had Julian’s body, perhaps even his heart for a brief flitting moment, but no one has captured his mind, his essence, _him_ , like Garak has. And yet there’s nothing as far as Garak can see that tethers the two of them together—nothing preventing them from drifting apart and losing each other.

And yet, he stays anyway. 

Out of duty, perhaps, trapped by a doctor’s obligation to a patient and Garak throws everything he can against him, the deepest, ugliest truths about him warped into lies to make it easier for him to justify abandoning this hostile patient—and still the doctor doesn’t go. Even when Garak is growling out cruel words sharp enough to cut, all he does is try and calm him down.

As he comes down off of the implant, at the best of times Garak wants him to leave him alone, leave him to wither and die here like he deserves—hates that this is how the universe has decided to introduce this— _this being_ to him—when he is a weak, sick, man; powerless to solve such a simple problem—instead of when he was at the height of his power and influence. If he had known Julian then, when he wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything and had enough secrets to sink an entire quadrants worth of battleships—the things he could’ve given him—the places he would have taken him—how many times has he caught himself day dreaming about the two of them on Cardassia, wandering among the gardens and arguing the finer points of Cardassian versus Earth literature? Imagined pressing him down on the bed in his old apartment at the top floor of one great towers in the centre of the city, watching as the smile always playing along his lips gave way to moans and growls, curling around him after they were both exhausted and revelling in his warmth as he listened to the sound of his chest rising and falling. Such simple, impossible, dreams that he loathes his mind for conjuring.

At the very worst of times it doesn’t matter that he’s a weak _treasonous_ man—doesn’t matter that right now he couldn’t make a civilian turn a blind eye let alone take down a _starship—_ because he never wants him to go. He wants him close by, within sight, within a finger breadth, so he can make sure he’s safe—that Dukat or whoever else would dare to lay hands on him cannot possibly touch him—that he can tear through their flesh and bones before they could even blink. And it doesn’t matter that they can’t walk underneath his favourite trees and he can’t tuck one of his favourite flowers behind Julian’s ear and laugh as he no doubt makes some snarky comment at the move and he can’t press Julian down into his old opulent bed. Because if he could just wrap his arms around him and press his lips softly against his forehead for just a moment—just a second—then he could die happy.

But he doesn’t die. 

Julian travels to a planet only mere years away from open hostility between the force that he represents and gets the solution to Garak’s death via a conversation with _Enabran Tain_ himself.

When he finds out what has happened—he wants to shake him—wants to growl at him until he understands just how foolish what he did was—but he can’t—because that’s what they’ll expect him to do if he cares.

And they can’t know that he does.

And they certainly can’t know how much.

So, he takes a seat across from the doctor at the replimat with his tray once he feels that he’s well enough to leave the infirmary and tries to continue as though it had never happened. Julian draws more easy banter from him than he had necessarily been willing to give up, but that was always to be expected, as was the way his heart leaps in his chest at the soft, knowing smile that he receives in turn.

And yet, he worries that his enormity of his gratitude has not been conveyed, so for the next few weeks he works on a suit made out of a Tarkala silk for his…friend. And the look on Julian’s face when he receives it, the way his eyes light up and his face breaks out into a beaming grin, is worth more than all the Latinum in the galaxy.

And then…the Bajoran Gratitude festival happens.

It’s everything and nothing like he thought it would be—and so so much better. He wakes up for days afterwards half-believing he can still feel the warmth of Julian’s touch lingering on his skin before reality comes rushing back in and he remembers that he can never feel it again.

Even if Julian doesn’t regret it—well that hardly matters because if he were to attempt to deepen the relationship between the two of them it would just make Julian that much more of a target and that—that can’t be permitted.

So he sews him a new suit to make up for the one that he ripped from him and tells himself that he’ll be fine with just this—forces himself to increase the distance between the two of them as they walk and in their conversation for a while until they reach the normalcy that he needs again. Ignores the hurt that flashes onto Julian’s face when he sweeps it neatly under the rug, tells himself he imagines the whole thing, and forces himself to focus on their lunches.

But it didn’t matter in the end, because despite his precautions, they still came for him.

While he was wasting away the days with his forced _vacation_ on Vulcan, Dukat’s little scientist had inserted himself into Julian’s life and despite his warnings—despite everything he’s tried to teach Julian—they snared him in a net all the same.

If he had talked to Julian that night, engaged him in another one of their debates as opposed to letting the stupid, petty, _jealousy_ in his chest fork his tongue—so caught up in thoughts of soft smiles that should be his and the stolen press of warm skin and hot breath that by all rights should be his to enjoy not some insipid interloper—then maybe—

Maybe Julian would have been waiting to greet him with one of those smiles today, instead of …this.

He’s frozen, transfixed by the sight of him, lying wrecked in that— _thing_ —‘s bed, drugged out of his beautiful mind, a dark blotch spread across his right cheek, his left arm covered in blue ink spiraling outward from his heart—he knows that Dax pushes past him, sees her press her fingers into his wrist to try and take his pulse, but he can’t move his eyes from Julian’s face, lips moving soundlessly, eyes staring into the ceiling unseeingly.

Until, suddenly, his body is moving before he realizes it, carrying himself back into the other room and towards the cause of all this.

“How is he?” Chief O’Brien asks him, brow creased with worry, but he doesn’t answer; just continues walking, until he’s standing in front of the miserable wretch who can’t even summon up the strength to look him in the eyes—and Julian cannot be destroyed by someone like _this—_ someone so— _lacking_ cannot possibly be the end of the most extraordinary being that Garak has ever known.

“Garak?” O’Brien asks again, and the wretch raises his head slightly, though still keeps his eyes cast to the ground.

“So, tell me, _Tanin_.” Garak says, congenially, as if he’s discussing the weather with an old customer, “how do you want to die?”

O’Brien starts visibly, and the wretch’s eyes finally fly up to meet his. “I—please, just let me explain—”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Garak.” O’Brien shifts so that he’s slightly in between the wretch and Garak. “I understand how you feel, believe me I do—”

“With all due respect, my dear, I don’t think you do.” Garak’s voice takes on the first real note of freezing rage spreading throughout his being, an amateur mistake, his own mind supplies, but he finds himself caring less and less by the minute.

O’Brien clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. “Look, Odo is on his way to escort him to security, I’ve got this from here, why don’t you go up to the infirmary and make sure that Julian’s alright—”

“That’s just the thing, my dear.” Garak snaps, “He’s not _alright—_ he’s the farthest thing from _alright_ —and I’m afraid that I can’t quite bring myself to trust that the _Federation_ will give him the justice that he deserves.”

“It was an accident!” The two of them turn their attention towards the outburst, which quickly continues, “I didn’t mean to make him—the solution was only supposed to knock him out for a little while! It wasn’t supposed to—”

“You mean you wanted him to be a docile victim.” Garak snarls. “You didn’t want him to put up a fight when you—”

“No, no, it wasn’t like that I swear! I never—” The wretch shakes his head desperately, “I would never harm him like—I would never do that to him—to anyone!”

“Oh, please, who do you think you’re fooling?” Garak takes another step closer and Miles throws up a hand to keep him back. “In case it’s somehow escaped your notice, I am a Cardassian, I _know_ what you did—”

“No, no I swear I never—it was just part of the plan—”

“What plan? What the hell are you talking about?” O’Brien interjects holding Garak back from another surge forward.

The wretch tries to hide behind O’Brien a little more. “Dukat, he—he wanted me to seduce Julian into a relationship and turn him against Garak—before eventually convincing him to move back to Cardassia with me.” He shakes his head. “But Dr. Bashir—he didn’t—he wasn’t interested—so I had to come up with a new plan. I got his attention by staging the accident and then I invited him to dinner as a thank you, and—and the plan was to—to knock him out and make it seem—like the two of us had been—”

He breaks off, his trying to make himself as small as possible under the fierceness of the two glares directed at him. “And that’s why I—why I drew the betrothal markings on his arms-"

"Betrothal markings?" O'Brien questions, face screwed up in confusion. "What the hell did you do that for?"

"So that he would have to travel back to Cardassia with me in order to cancel the proceedings, and then Dukat was going to-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, before turning back to Garak, eyes wide and desperate with disgusting panic. “But I swear I never—I didn’t touch him otherwise—except for his face, which I only did because I thought—I thought if I could shock him enough then he would—he would come back—”

Silence envelops the three of them for a moment, before it is broken by a low, dark chuckle.

“You really expect us to believe that?” The mirth doesn’t reach Garak’s eyes. “Even if it is true, I hate to break it to you, my dear, but what you confessed is not only disgusting and cowardly, it also amounts to coercion and kidnapping.”

The wretch looks at O’Brien pleadingly. “Please, you don’t understand—Dukat—he would have destroyed me—everything that I’ve built—none of it would have mattered—I couldn’t—I couldn’t let that happen—” He shakes his head mournfully, “not even for someone like Julian—”

“Don’t you dare say his name.” Garak hisses, with enough venom to kill this leech a thousand times over, and he pushes past O’Brien and reaches forwards to wrap his hands around the wretch’s neck—

“That’s enough!”

Odo’s hand catches his shoulder and hauls him back, and he snarls at the intrusion, fighting against him for a moment before giving up and shaking the constable off instead.

“I will handle things from here.” Odo levels Garak with a glare that Garak returns evenly, full of a promise that he fully intends to keep. “Chief, would you mind escorting Garak back to his quarters?”

O’Brien steps forward, placing a hand on Garak’s shoulder, which he also shakes off, casting one more glance at the wretch before storming from the room, O’Brien following right behind him.

Odo won’t always be there—the shape shifter has to regenerate, just like the humanoids on this station—and there’ll be plenty of time for Garak to exact the justice that Julian deserves on that pathetic excuse for an adversary.

“Did he…was it that bad?”

He doesn’t look at O’Brien, keeping his gaze on the hallway in front of them. “Yes.”

“How—”  
  
_“Dax, to O’Brien.”_

The two of them stop in the middle of the hallway and Garak can’t breathe, mind racing as he goes through all the reasons that Dax could have to contact them so quickly after taking Julian to the infirmary, and the walls start to press in around them and he screws his eyes shut and tries to force his mind to picture the open field near the old estate.

“O’Brien here.”

_“Chief, can you bring Garak to the infirmary? We think—well, Julian’s asking for him.”_

“Understood, we’re on our way.”

He forces his eyes open as O’Brien begins to walk towards the Turbolift, falling into step slightly behind him.

It doesn’t take long for them to reach the Infirmary, Dax standing by the door waiting to greet them as they arrive. “He’s stable; the doctor said that some kind of chemical had interacted with his natural brain chemistry in a very bad way—his brain was overwhelmed by all the sensory stimuli and that’s why he didn’t respond to us. He couldn’t pick out the stimuli related to us amongst all the others he was experiencing.”

“You said he was asking for me?” Garak says as they turn the corner and see him, tucked into one of the biobeds, eyes half-lidded but still open, lips moving still moving constantly, though slower.

Dax hesitates before sighing. “We—we think he’s asking for you, but he’s not being very coherent.”  
  
“What d’you mean?” O’Brien asks.

Dax shakes her head. “The doctor gave him a sedative to try and let him rest, but it’s like—it’s like he’s fighting it—he just keeps repeating the same thing over and over again—one of the nurses said it might have been something he was using to try and keep himself grounded; but now-”

“And what does that have to do with me, specifically?” Garak addresses Dax but can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Julian. 

“The thing he’s repeating—it’s your name, Garak.”

* * *

G.a.r.a.k.

Garak.

It’s easier to see now, some of the everything has faded away, and he can register a room, though the colours of it don’t stay within their lines, and the sound of voices, though they seem to merge and blend into each other, but he can pick apart that there’s multiple of them so that must be a good sign.

He feels heavier, as though plygorian mammoths are lying on top of him, pressing him down and pushing him farther and farther away from the room and the colours and the voices and—the word and that can’t—he can’t let that happen—can’t lose the word.

Someone comes to sit beside him, grey and black and blue of them blurring, but despite the distortion, something in in his mind lights up all the same.

 _Oh, it’s you_.   

He reaches for him, not sure if with his mind or his body, perhaps both, panicked at the lack of connection between them—nothing to tether them together—

Cool fingers curl around his hand and a rush of relief floods him because—

_It’s you._

He clutches the hand tightly, as his mind and the word begins to slip away—but it’s alright; he doesn’t need it anymore—he has this—

He has _him_. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends we are here, tis the end of the story.  
> Thank to everyone who has left kudos and comments, you guys really motivated me to finish the story.

“How is he?”

“Unconscious.”

Garak doesn’t turn to look at Sisko as he crosses over to them, and he can’t blame him. Bashir is lying there with his eyes closed, wearing an infirmary nightgown and carefully tucked into the biobed, with one hand left above the covers and curled around Garak’s. The medical staff told him the prognosis, so he doesn’t need the steady rise and fall of his chest to confirm that his chief medical officer is going to be alright; but he finds it calms his nerves, nonetheless. 

Despite this, he looks at Bashir’s unconscious face, and sees another’s, from what feels like a life time ago, buried under the remains of what used to be his home.

So he doesn’t blame Garak for not being able to look away right now.

He crosses to the other side of Bashir’s bed. “Dr. Kel’Mok has informed me that he’ll make a full recovery—”

“Who? Ah, yes, the one who couldn’t run a tricorder test without a medical orderly’s assistance.” Garak sighs. “Far be it for me to interfere with how you run your station, Commander, but it might be worthwhile to employ at least one other doctor that is semi-competent.”

Sisko doesn’t blink. “As I understand, Dr. Kel’Mok might have been able to run the tricorder test without incident had you not implied that if the results were anything other than favorable you would jettison him off of the station.”

“How unfortunate that he construed our interaction that way.” Garak casts Sisko a smile that isn’t half as pleasant as he would usually try and make it. “I assure you, Commander, it wasn’t my intention to alarm the poor man.”

It’s the poorest lie Garak’s ever told.

“Of course not.”

“So, tell me, Commander,” Garak cocks his head at Sisko, “what justice has Starfleet decided on for our dear doctor?”

Sisko meets Garak’s gaze with his own. “I assume you’re asking about what’s going to happen to Dr. Nahar?”

“Odd to allow a criminal to keep his title,” Garak remarks, “but I suppose that’s indicative of your Federation’s predilection for second chances.”

“I think it has more to do with our policy of innocent until proven guilty. But to answer your question, Dr. Nahar will be in Constable Odo’s custody until representatives from the Cardassian Central Command come to collect him.”

Garak stiffens, and Sisko prepares himself for the inevitable.

“The crime he committed was perpetrated on Bajoran territory overseen by Starfleet.” Garak is holding himself carefully still, but the hand curled around Bashir’s has begun to shake slightly. “Surely one of those two powers have the greater right to prosecute and sentence him.”

“He is also a Cardassian citizen, and the treaty signed with Bajor states that all Cardassian citizens who commit a crime on Bajoran territory will be transported to Cardassia to face justice there—”

“So you’re going to let him go, just like that.” Garak’s words are wrapped in barbed wire, and they fly from his mouth to attack and injure anything and everything in sight. “Behold the mighty Starfleet, that allows its officers to be maimed and murdered without so much as a slap on the wrist—”

“I don’t like this anymore than you do, Garak.” Sisko cuts him off sharply, painfully aware that just a few moments ago he was standing in Garak’s place and attempting to stare down a certain Admiral, “But my hands are—”

“Spare me your platitudes and sympathies, Commander.” Garak snarls, letting go of Bashir’s hand to stand up and meet Sisko eye to eye. “I assume this is why you took so long to visit; couldn’t bring yourself to look at the officer you abandoned for the sake of politics, my dear?”

“Garak—” Sisko warns.

“Is that why you sent me that transmission?” Garak presses, crossing to Sisko’s side of the biobed. “So that you could absolve yourself of guilt by shifting the responsibility for your officer’s wellbeing to  _my_  shoulders?”  

“I sent you that transmission to update you on the situation and because as a former Cardassian agent, I believed you would be able to inform Dr. Bashir of the danger to a greater extent than any other individual on this station.” Sisko bites back. “Clearly, I overestimated your abilities.”

“And I yours.”

They stare each other down, neither willing to break the other’s gaze, when a soft sound draws their attention simultaneously elsewhere.

Bashir’s face is scrunched up, body shifting on the bed, as he groans softly.

Garak is by his side in an instant and reaching forward for him, faltering slightly before placing his hands on his shoulders as though handling something impossibly fragile and terrifyingly breakable.

Bashir’s eyes flicker, before sliding open blearily, blinking a few more times before focusing on the scene before him. And when he speaks his voice is hoarse, tearing at his vocal cords.

“Garak?”

“Julian.” Garak cups his face so very, very gently and the sight sparks a melancholic reminder within Sisko and for a moment, he can feel the phantom touch of another’s hand against his own face. “How do you feel?”

Bashir lets out a contented sight, leaning into Garak’s hand, his eyes already beginning to slip closed again.

“Safe.”

And with that, his face grows lax again, and his breathing evens out once more.

Garak’s gaze doesn’t move from his face, his thumb gently stroking Julian’s cheek, as he lowers himself to carefully sit on the biobed.

“I think, Commander, that it’s time for you to make your exit.” 

Sisko sighs. “Garak—”

“One of the few things I can laud your Starfleet regulations for is that a patient’s emergency contact reserves the right to allow or revoke access to that patient with impunity.” Garak interrupts smoothly. “And I think you’ll find if you check our dear doctor’s medical file that emergency contact is none other than yours truly.” 

Sisko goes still for a moment, before raising up his hands slightly in surrender. “Alright, Mr. Garak, that is your right. However, it is my duty to ensure that the interplanetary treaties between Bajor and the Cardassian Empire are respected and so to that end—”

He moves so he is directly in front of Garak, attempting to catch his eyes. “I need your assurance that you will do nothing to disrupt the lawful transference of Dr. Nahar to the Cardassian authorities.” 

Garak meets his eyes, and this time when his smile is all teeth, Sisko knows that it’s intentional. “My dear Commander, how could a simple tailor possibly hope to interfere in something as high profile as that?”

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment before Sisko draws back, closing his eyes briefly with a slight shake of his head. “Please give Dr. Bashir my well wishes when he wakes.”

Garak nods in response and Sisko casts one last glance at Bashir before making his way out of the infirmary, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly and resigning himself to handing a man out of his hands and out of justice. When really, all he desired was to wrap those same hands around the neck of the—how had Dr. Bashir phrased it?  _Dark Assassin_. He can see the words forming on the young man's lips, humour dancing in his eyes as it fell teasingly off his tongue, his youthful face creased into a slight smile, that ever-present abundance of energy always ready to burst from him at the earliest opportunity.

He shook his head, he supposed it didn’t matter, not when he still had the rest of the high-ranking officers to brief—a conversation that he didn’t anticipate would progress any better than the one he’d just had.

And he couldn’t blame them.

* * *

The world comes back into focus slowly. 

Sounds are the first, the steady beeping of the vitals monitor, voices overlain and then distinct, and then sensations, the softness of infirmary linen against his body and the warmth of a hand curled around his, light passing through his eyelids, and then blue eyes peering back at him.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

He groans, pulling his hand free from the grip of the other hand and rubbing his face with it.

“Is there a reason I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with a Klingon?”

“Sensory overload will do that to you.” Jadzia replies easily, moving over to the side of the bed and pouring something into a cup before handing it to him. “What do you remember?”

He inhales the sweet, warm aroma before taking a sip and grimacing at the taste of the tea that the Bajoran doctors prescribe to promote the body’s healing factor. “I was—Tanin had sent me an invitation for dinner so I—”

It comes rushing back, all at once, and he turns to look at Jadzia, shock written on every feature of his face. “I was—Tanin he—drugged me, I—” He shakes his head, pressing a hand to his temple, “I can’t believe I was so—” 

“Foolish?” Jadzia supplies and she shakes her head when Julian just nods. “What were you hoping to accomplish?”

“I thought—” He cuts himself off with a shake off his head, struggling to come up with the right words. “I thought that if I confronted him about what he was doing then I could beat him at his own game—and then I wouldn’t be stuck playing by someone else’s rules.”

He rests his head back against the pillow and closes his eyes. “Instead I just made him desperate.”

“And nearly gave Chief O'Brien a heart attack.”

He turns to look at Jadzia, the teasing lilt to her words betrayed by the solemnity in her eyes.

“Exactly how much trouble am I in?”

“I can’t speak to everyone else, but I can personally guarantee that there’s going to be a seat at Quark’s next Tongo game with your name on it.”

Julian groans, the sound of his Latinum clinking into Jadzia’s hands echoing through his ears, and he shoots her a pleading look. “I don’t suppose an apology would get me out of this?”

“No, it won’t.” Jadzia places her hand on his arm, a note of seriousness coming back into her voice. “Julian, do you remember anything else about what happened to you?”

Julian closes his eyes and tries to wade through the tangled mess of sensations in his mind. “Not really, like I said, I remember him drugging me, and before that he confessed that Dukat had sent him to try and—” He clears his throat, attempting to beat back the heat rushing up to his face, “—to try and drive a wedge between me and Garak. And then I told him what I thought about that and tried to storm out—and that’s when he injected me with something—but from there it’s just—” He breaks off, waffling for a moment before shaking his head. “A mess of sensations and emotions and…”

His fingers trace along his left arm absently, and a memory flickers to life behind his eyes, face scrunching up in confusion as he stares at the clear, unmarked skin of his arm before meeting Jadzia’s steady gaze. “Was…was there something on my arm? I remember—pain there but I don’t see—did the dermal regenerator—”

“Julian,” Jadzia gives his hand a slight comforting squeeze, taking a deep breath before beginning. “Tanin—he was trying to get you to Cardassia through very…unsavory means.”

Julian raises an eyebrow. “That’s rather vague, Dax.”

“He—He tattooed some sort of betrothal mark on that arm—”

Nausea rises up in him violently and he screws his eyes shut as the information threatens to overwhelm him.

_“Betrothal mark?”_

Jadzia squeezes his hand again, but this time to steady _him_. “I’m sorry, Julian;” she pauses again, her eyes soft as she speaks, “we don’t have to talk about all of it right now if you’re feeling—”

“No, no, I want—I need—” Juilan forces himself to take a deep breath and meet Jadzia’s gaze. “I would rather get it all out of the way at once, if you don’t mind.”

Jadzia nods, “Of course,” and though he can’t say it out-loud he’s grateful she doesn’t let go of his hand.

“The mark, why did he…?” Julian trails off, not sure whether or not he can put the words into the air. As though the mark is some sort of boogeyman that will reappear once its name is uttered. 

“Apparently betrothal marks require a council’s approval in order to be removed,” and by the tick in her jaw, Julian can tell that she’s about as thrilled at that policy and its implications as he is. “So you would have had to go to Cardassia Prime to dispute it and have it removed, a process that apparently can take, and I quote, “an indiscriminate amount of time”.”

Julian nods. “So I’d be isolated, away from Starfleet influence, and Gul Dukat would be free to do—” images of his body lying broken at the bottom of some stairs, or bleeding onto the floor of the dark rooms that the Bajoran survivors of the interrogation would describe  whatever it is he was planning next, or trapped in a marriage with Tanin and refused clearance to leave or contact anyone outside of the Cardassian Empire, or a mix of all three swarm his mind and he feels that nausea rise up again “—whatever it is he was planning on doing.”

Jadzia tightens her grip on his hand, less of a squeeze and more of a death grip, and he almost thinks he can see the same images passing behind her eyes. “Will I still have to—?”

“No.” The word is soft, yet unyielding, and in a way, he feels shielded by it, the remaining worry seeping away. “No, you don’t have the mark anymore and any mention of it will be…conveniently missing from Miles, Garak, and I’s statements and reports—”

“Garak?” Julian starts, sitting up and wincing as his body cries out in protest. “Garak’s here—?”

And then it hits him and the warm bright feeling that had spread through him bursts and all that is left in its wake is a cold, dead, emptiness. “Garak…was there, wasn’t he? He saw…” 

“He saw the same things I saw.” Jadzia stands, pressing him back into the bed gently and tucking the infirmary blanket closer around him. “And he lost the same amount of respect for you that I did, _none_.”

Julian opens his mouth to protest, but she beats him to it. “Should you have avoided putting yourself in a dangerous situation? Ideally, but that doesn’t make you responsible for the actions another person chose to commit in that situation.”

“I get the feeling that if I try and fight you on that you might try hurt me.” Julian remarks.

Jadzia’s lips quirk. “At least you’ve got _some_ good instincts, doctor.”

Julian huffs out a laugh before sobering slightly, worry beginning to creep in again. “Garak, he—is he alright?”

“He handled what happened about as well as the rest of us.” Jadzia replies, which isn’t an answer and the look he sends her says as much. “What do you want me to say? He’s not exactly singing and dancing on the rooftops but there’s nothing wrong with him specifically, he’s just been—he’s been worried about you.”

Despite himself, that warm feeling flickers to life again in his chest. “Of course he has, no one else on the station can quite compete with my witty remarks.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Jadzia drawls, taking a seat again. “He hasn’t left your side since we brought you here.”

“That’s—” Julian clears his throat slightly. “Very kind of him.”

“You were asking for him, you know.”

Julian blinks, turning to stare at her. “Asking for him?”

“When we found you, you were very…” Jadzia trails off. “You couldn’t communicate with us, I’m not—I’m not sure you even knew we were there. But you kept repeating Garak’s name, over and over, spelling it out and then saying it. Do you remember…?”

“I—” Julian shakes his head, heat rising up into his cheeks. “Sort of. We had…an argument before I went to see Tanin and I guess…he was on my mind.”

Jadzia’s lips quirk. “That makes sense.”

“mm hmm.” Julian steadfastly ignores her gaze, glancing around the room while he asks his next question. “Where is Garak now?”

“Missing him already?” Jadzia teases and Julian feels his battle for composure go down in hot red flames. “Don’t worry, he just went back to his quarters to freshen up and change; I had to practically threaten him with emergency transport just to get him to leave.” She brings her hand near her comm badge. “Do you want me to get OPS to tell him to come back—?”

No! No, I mean uh—” Julian shakes his head, “that’s not necessary, he could probably use the rest.”

Jadzia hums in reply and starts to stand up. “All the same, I think I’ll go find him and let him know you’re awake. Like I said, he’s been very worried about you.”

“Well, let me come with you—” Julian moves to stand up again and his body screams out in protest at his betrayal, an embarrassing whimper of pain slipping past his lips.

Jadzia rolls her eyes, tucking him back into bed again, this time more firmly. “Doctors really do make the worst patients. You, Julian, are staying here, I promise I’ll be back with Garak soon.”

“You don’t have to—” He turns away, grumbling slightly before giving in to a sigh, exhaustion beginning to creep in around him again. “Just—make sure he’s alright, won’t you? It would be a shame if we both ended up confined to the infirmary.”

Jadzia smiles, inwardly shaking her head at the two of them, “I promise, Julian, just sit tight,” before standing up and walking out of the room—leaving him alone with his swirling thoughts. 

* * *

“Garak.”

Garak smiles widely at the thinly pressed lips aimed back at him. “Constable Odo, may I just say that you are looking particularly—”

“No, you may not.” Odo cuts him off brusquely, turning back to his Pad.

Garak shakes his head, pushing off of the side of the doors and letting them swish shut behind him in favour of sauntering further into the Security Chief’s office. “Oh, come now, my dear constable, what’s the matter, woke up on the wrong side of the bucket?”

“I hadn’t heard that Dr. Bashir had regained consciousness yet.” Odo shoots Garak a look, arching one of his brows in a way that has devastated dozens of criminals. “I was under the impression you were planning to be by his side when he did.”

“Frankly, Odo, all that infirmary air is bad for my lungs.”

“Really? Logic would dictate that should be the best air for you humanoids.”

Garak lets out a slight laugh. “Well, as you’re no doubt aware, us humanoids can be rather illogical.”

“I had observed that.” Odo returns evenly. “You are also no doubt aware that I cannot allow you access to Dr. Nahar.”

“Really, Odo,” Garak gestures towards the room around them, “can’t I simply visit a friend without an ulterior motive?”

“No.” Odo growls back. “And you and I are not friends.”

Garak puts a hand over his chest. “Odo, you wound me! And here I thought we were well on our way to becoming the best of friends.”

“Inconvenient how often you humanoids are wrong.” Odo makes a shooing motion with his hands. “Please be sure to give Dr. Bashir my regards when he wakes—”

“Are you really content to just hand your prisoner over to the Cardassians?” The words burst forth from Garak’s with a ferocity that momentarily overrides Odo. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe that you, a scion of justice for the Bajorans, nay, for the whole station, are perfectly alright with a perpetrator escaping punishment.”

“I don’t care about the humanoid perceptions of me, what I care about is upholding law and order.” Odo bites back, placing his Pad down on his desk and turning to face Garak completely in his chair. “And the law says that I have to hand over my prisoner to face justice elsewhere.”

“But that’s precisely it, isn’t it?” Garak presses, placing his hands on the top of the chair on his side of the desk. “He isn’t going to face justice elsewhere, our only hope for him receiving his due is for him to be brought to trial here.”

“And just what is his due, Garak?” Odo asks. “A pound of flesh? An eye for an eye?”

“I couldn’t possibly speculate.”

“Either way, it doesn’t matter. He won’t be brought to trial here.” Odo picks up his Pad again. “I suggest you get yourself used to the idea.”

Garak lets out a humourless laugh. “Oh, Constable, I hope you won’t consider me impolite if I don’t follow that suggestion.”

“Frankly, Garak, I don’t care what you do so long as you do it far away from my office and my prisoner.” Odo gets to his feet as he finishes his sentence, looking behind Garak as the door to the office opens. “Perhaps Lt. Dax can help you with that.”

Garak turns to face the interloper in their conversation, all that faux ease gone in an instant. “Lieutenant, I thought our arrangement was that you were to watch over the good doctor in my absence.”

“And I thought, our arrangement was made on the premise that you were going to take this time to return to your quarters and get some rest.” Dax walks into the room, giving Constable Odo a slight nod. “Looks like we’re both in the wrong.”

“A rather uncomfortable place to be.” Garak agrees, letting go of the chair and turning towards Dax. “Perhaps, as the good constable says, you might escort me to my quarters so that I don’t accidently wander again?”

“If you’d like, but I thought you might like to come back to infirmary instead.” Dax meets his look of surprise and painful hope with a smile. “Julian just woke up a few moments ago.”

A rush of emotion threatens to roil through him, and he’s already halfway across the promenade when he speaks to Dax again.

“You’re quite adept at burying the lead, my dear.”   


* * *

  
Realizing you love someone is one thing.

Having to confront the focus of that love with your newfound feelings is another thing entirely.

Julian feels the anxiety like a living thing within him as he waits for Jadzia and Garak to return, growing steadily with each moment and taking over more and more of him with each beat of its heart. An intensifying restless itch and energy that his body can’t even do him the courtesy of being fit enough to allow him to pace out; though he has a feeling that he might wear through a significant number of carpets if he were able to try.

By the time he hears the rapid footsteps hurrying towards his room he’s a third of a way to convincing himself that it would be entirely rational to hide under the biobed, but that all flies out of his mind the moment the doors open and their eyes meet.

“Garak.”

He looks like an absolute wreck, deep blue bruises underneath his eye, hair astray and clothes horrifically wrinkled, and his eyes bore into Julian as though he’s the one oasis on an entire desert planet.

He’s the most wonderful thing that Julian’s ever seen.

Garak stares at him for a moment more before seeming to collect himself, smoothing his clothes out, “Doctor,” before making his way over to the biobed and taking the seat next to it. “This is not exactly the situation I had been promised upon my return.”  
  
“Well, you know me, Garak,” Julian says, and the fingers on the hand closest to Garak twitch towards the tailor slightly, yet another betrayal from his body, “I like to live life on the edge.”

“’Close to the edge’ seems to be rather an understatement.” Garak returns, but his hand comes to rest near to Julian’s, a hairsbreadth away from touching him.

Julian smiles softly at him. “Really? What would you call it then?”

“A headfirst dive into the abyss.” Garak returns dryly, but Julian can feel the emotion just underneath poking through.

Hesitantly, he slowly curls his fingers around Garak’s. “Garak, I—”

“No, please, my dear.” Garak takes his hand completely into his. “I’m the one who owes you an apology, I was…frustrated about being unable to return and I chose to take my concern over the situation out on the very person I was the most worried about.” Garak’s jaw tightens. “And as a result, you—”

“Made a choice of my own free will.” Julian cuts him off firmly, squeezing his hand. “Garak, what happened isn’t your fault—”

“Isn't it?” Garak interjects, shaking his head. “Sisko contacted me when they first began to suspect the true nature of what Tanin was planning, asking me to share any…knowledge I might have on the subject with you so you would be better prepared. But instead of providing you with that information I—”

“Garak.” Julian insists, bringing his other hand to caress his face before he can think better of it, tucking some stray hairs behind his ear. “You’re not to blame.”

Garak doesn’t answer, closing his eyes and leaning into Julian touch, bringing up his free hand to keep the doctor’s hand pressed against his face; and taking a steadying deep breath.

“My dear,” his voice wavers slightly at he speaks, more of that emotion slipping through, “do you…remember much of what happened?”

 Julian shakes his head. “No, it’s mostly a mess of sensations. Which I think is probably for the best.”

“Of course.” Garak nods but doesn’t let go of Julian’s hands.

Julian strokes the ridge of Garak’s cheek gently with his thumb. “I’m alright, Garak, really; I promise.”

“Now.” Garak returns, his eyes slipping closed again briefly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you sooner, my dear.”

“It’s enough that you showed up when you did.” Julian tells him, “You…you were the one thing that kept me grounded, through it all; you saved me.” His lips quirk upwards. “Twice.”

Garak meets his eyes and Julian feels his heart surge painfully, too full and too warm to bear, his throat going tight with the rush of emotions threatening to fall off his tongue.

“Garak, I—”

“How touching.”

Ice runs through his veins and he feels Garak stiffen, dropping the hand pressed into his face in favour of turning towards the sound of the voice.

Gul Dukat saunters into the room in a way that only the truly shameless can, and Julian struggles to keep the boiling rage within him contained, squeezing Garak’s hand both as a warning and for strength.

Dukat looks Garak up and down critically. “You’re looking rather shabby, Garak. I can’t imagine clients line up to seek out the expertise of an ill-dressed tailor.”

“Is there a reason you’re here, Dukat?” Julian asks, and if Sisko was in the room he’d be getting a look for his tone alone.

Dukat offers Julian a sympathetic smile, crossing to stand on the other side of the biobed and Julian can practically feel every muscle in Garak’s body tense—ready to spring into motion at the drop of a hat. 

“I merely came to express my regret over the actions Dr. Nahar, especially given that you so kindly accepted my request to watch over them during the duration of their stay.”

Julian barely manages to avoid rolling his eyes. “How kind of you.”

“I understand your hesitation regarding my true intentions, doctor, but rest assured,” Dukat places a hand on Julian’s shoulder and Garak’s hand around his tightens to the point of painful, “I will do everything in my power to see that Dr. Nahar gets exactly what he deserves when we return him to Cardassia.”

“Oh I’m sure you will, Dukat.” Julian replies, “I can’t wait to see what awards and accolades you shower on him.”

Dukat shakes his head. “Doctor, I’m not sure I understand your meaning.”

“Of course you don't.” Julian closes his eyes and leans back against his pillow. “Thank you, for your sympathies, Dukat, but if you wouldn’t mind this whole experience has left me feeling rather drained.”

Dukat removes his hand from Julian’s shoulder and takes a step back. “Of course, I have a number of things to prepare for the prisoner transfer tomorrow; rest well doctor, I wish you a speedy recovery.” He pauses next to Garak and sends him a grin so smug it makes Julian want to throw up. “Wonderful to see you again, my dear friend.”

Julian doesn’t watch him go, barely waiting for the doors to swish closed behind him before speaking again.

“Do you think he was born that much of an arsehole or does he spend all his free time just practicing at it?”

He throws a smile Garak’s way, but Garak doesn’t meet his gaze, staring at the sheets where their hands are still connected.

“Garak—?”s

“Forgive me, doctor,” Garak cuts him off abruptly, “but I’m afraid I’m in desperate need of a change of clothes and a shower. Now that I’ve established your wellbeing, I hope you wouldn’t mind if I…?”

“Oh,” Julian fights back against the disappointment crashing down on him, “no, no, of course, don’t let me keep you.”

Garak gives him a half-smile and pulls his hand free from Julian’s. “Thank you, my dear.”

He stands up and starts to make his way towards the door, hesitating mid-step before turning back to face the doctor.

“Perhaps I could bring you lunch tomorrow?”

Julian hesitates briefly before offering a small smile. “I’d—I think I’d like that.”

“Excellent.” Garak nods, turning back towards the door. “Goodbye for now then, my dear.”

“Goodbye.” Julian says to the door as it slides shut, leaving him alone again. Only this time, instead of anxiety, it is frustration that takes him over as he closes his eyes and tries to convince himself that it would be ridiculous to cry right now.  

* * *

The only one that sees the doors open without a sound are the silent stars peering in to the darkened and desolate promenade.

The infiltrator slips through them just as soundlessly, their footfalls masked by a similar device to the one that had been placed on the door earlier, their image masked by a careful looping of footage created with a few lines of code.

They turn to the door to the cells, keying in their old access code, a smile playing on their lips when they slide open easily and they begin to make their way toward the target; who is huddled up in the corner of his cell, legs tucked to his chest and so offensively non-Cardassian in his capture that it almost makes their skin itch.

He looks up when they come in, and his eyes go comically wide again as he scrambles backwards, hands scrabbling desperately at the far wall of his cell.   

“Hello again, Dr. Nahar—may I call you Tanin?”

A few syllables bubble forth from the wretch’s lips and Garak nods as if they were in any way sensical. “Thank you, Tanin. Now, a little birdie told me that you’ve managed to get yourself transferred back to Cardassia to stand trial—if you do stand trial at all. Given that the central command will want to embark on their own investigation about the events of the past few days and their conclusions are sometimes vastly different than the one Starfleet comes to.”

The wretch mumbles something again and Garak sends him a sympathetic smile. “You’ll have to speak up, my dear. After years of haggling prices and measuring shrill wedding parties, I’m afraid my hearing isn’t what it used to be.”

“ _Please_. I swear I didn’t mean to—”

“My mother once told me that if you have nothing worth saying then you should keep your mouth closed.” Garak walks slowly forward, hand resting on the button to release the energy barrier across the wretch’s cell. “Or, I suppose in this case, nothing worth repeating.”

The wretch’s eyes are wet, liquid threatening to spill from them. “I’m not the one you want, I’m just—”

“The messenger?” Garak supplies, letting out a slight chuckle, a cruel smirk carved into his face. “Oh, but you’re more than that aren’t you?”

The wretch shakes his head frantically. “I’m not! I swear—”

“Do me the favour of saving us some time, Tanin.” Garak turns to look at him. “I may not have ever executed this particular dance, but I recognize the theory behind it. What is it the humans say? Ah yes; it takes one to know one.”

“I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“My, the caliber of agents really has declined since He retired, hasn’t it?”

Something flashes behind those horrendously wet eyes and he knows that he has him.

“Ah, struck a nerve, did I?”

“You’re one to talk about caliber.” Tanin replies shortly, all simpering fear gone in an instant, wiping the tears away from his eyes casually. “You were supposedly the best of us, and you gave it all up—you gave _Cardassia_ up.”

“I see rumors of my indiscretion have been greatly exaggerated.” Garak returns dryly.

Tanin snorts, standing up and walking over to the front of his cell. “Tell me then, what was it that gave me away?”

“I found it rather odd that Dukat and the central command were going through such effort to bring a simple scientist back to Cardassia.” Garak taps his fingers against the wall thoughtfully. “It suggested that you perhaps held more value than they were willing to admit. And the fact that you were supposedly a scientist of some repute despite the fact that there are no scientific articles in the Cardassian Scientific Database with your name on them also gave me pause.”

Tanin sends him a sharp look. “You don’t have access to the Cardassian Scientific Database.”

“I can understand why you would think that.” Garak offers sympathetically, “The database isn’t accessible by anyone without a Cardassian Citizenship number, so I imagine you thought there was no need for you to go the extra step to create that façade when neither I nor anyone in the Federation would have been able to check your credentials.” He keys in an override code into the cell’s lock mechanism. “Whereas when He was in charge you would have had a paper trail whether anyone would have been able to see it or not.”

With a slight beep, the energy barrier comes down, Tanin doesn’t move, his eyes following Garak’s as he comes to stand in front of him.

“So, what now? Going to try and get me to tell you everything I know?” Tanin smirks, his eyes flashing. “The grand plan behind all my machinations?”

Garak smiles back. “I fear that would be an exercise in futility, like trying to fill a jar with a teaspoon of water. After all, as you said, you are merely the messenger.”

His hands are around Tanin’s throat in an instant, and the caliber of agents truly has dropped given just how easy it is to back him up against the nearest wall so his feet are lifted off of the ground slightly—or perhaps he isn’t nearly as rusty as he thought he was.

“However, if every messenger bird you sent out ended up with an arrow in its breast, wouldn’t you think it might be a good idea to stop sending messages?”

Tanin’s mouth moves frantically, a desperate wheezing the only thing to pass through his lips.

“It’s interesting really,” Garak continues, casually, as though his hands aren’t squeezing the life out of his conversation partner, “you’re the first to come after what’s mine in a long while. One would hope that you’d be the last, but I’ve never been one for optimism.”

Tanin is beginning to turn an interesting shade of blue, his lips an ashen grey.

“You see, I’ve had quite a number of things taken from me in recent years, _Tanin_. As you are obviously aware.” He can feel bones creak and shift underneath his hands. “Which is why I’m rather… _protective_ of what I have now.”

Hands are scratching at Garak’s arms and face, clawing for air, and he deftly avoids them.

“Terribly unfortunate that you’ve been caught in the middle here, Tanin,” he sighs, shaking his head slightly, “but, to quote another pearl of wisdom from my mother, once you make your bed—”

_“Garak!”_

Garak’s hands are torn from Tanin’s neck as a someone hauls him backwards, pulling him several feet from his would-be victim. Tanin slips to the floor, taking in air with ragged gasps.

With a snarl, Garak fights against the grip holding him back, until he recognises the sharp voice in his ear, and he freezes.

“Julian.”

The doctor’s eyes are unreadable, jaw clenching tightly, and he takes the momentary lowering of Garak’s defenses to drag the both of them out of the cell—hitting the button to bring up the barrier just as Tanin uses the bench to push himself up and aim a rather self-satisfied smirk for someone who had just been seconds away from breathing his last.

“Julian,” he croaks, “how wonderful to see you again.”

“I’m afraid the feeling isn’t mutual.” Julian returns evenly, still keeping a firm grip on Garak’s arm.

“How unfortunate,” Tanin muses and then winces, rubbing a hand over where the faint outline of dark blue hand prints are beginning to form on his throat. “Shouldn’t you still be in the infirmary recovering from your little…trip?”

Garak surges forward again, but Julian manages to hold him back.

“I checked myself out.” Julian shrugs, “CMO privileges and all. Garak,” he doesn’t turn to look at him, keeping his eyes on Tanin, “would you mind giving me the dermal regenerator that you stole from the infirmary?”

“Ah,” Tanin flicks his eyes over to Garak, “not planning on leaving a trace, I suppose.”

“How clever of you for working it out.” Garak’s voice is dripping with venom, “I suppose points must be awarded for your agency’s policy of recruiting people with below average intelligence, as opposed to none.”

“Garak.” Julian says, quiet, but firm.

Reluctantly, he pulls the dermal regenerator from his pocket and hands it to Julian, who takes it from him and carefully lets go of his arm, walking towards the cell—

Garak catches him by the arm. “My dear, just _what_ do you think you’re doing.”

“ _I_ am going to use the dermal regenerator to repair the damage to Tanin’s throat. _You_ are going to stay here and let me do it.” 

Garak lets out a low laugh that has no humor. “Oh, no, I don’t think so.”

“You can think whatever you like, Garak.” Julian tells him. “This is going to happen, and you can either help us both by letting it go as smoothly as possible or you can argue and increase the chances of someone discovering us.”

It takes great effort to get his fingers to loosen and then eventually let go of Julian’s arm entirely.

“Thank you.”

 “Do you really think I’m just going to let you destroy any evidence of him attacking me?” Tanin asks dryly, rolling his eyes. “Talk about below average intelligence.”

Garak feels his chest burn and he opens his mouth, acrid remark poised on his tongue—

“You know, Tanin,” Julian remarks, “I wonder what your organization would do to you if they knew just how easily Garak saw through you—I mean, what’s the point in a spy that can’t even lie?”  

Tanin stares at Julian, brow furrowed, and Garak feels the realization dawn on him slowly, the pride that it inspires swelling in his chest as he looks at Julian.

“I recorded the conversation you and Garak had before I…interrupted.” Julian levels Tanin with a look that practically dares him to try and look away. “Now, you can either sit still and let me fix your neck, or I can send that recording to the Obsidian Order. Now, granted, I wouldn’t know how to do that exactly—but I do happen to have the contact information for someone who I’m sure would be very happy to pass it on to the proper channels.”

Julian pauses. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him? His name is Enabran Tain.”

Tanin turns a shade of ashen grey that Garak hasn’t seen in years, and he wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around Julian and kiss him until neither of them can remember how to stand anymore.

“Right then.” Julian presses the button to lower the cell’s barrier and crosses over to where Tanin is glaring at him balefully. “Hold still for a moment.”

He runs the regenerator over Tanin’s throat, and Garak watches for any minute movement that might give him an excuse to rush forward and end his miserable existence in a more quick and efficient manner than his last attempt had been. But Tanin behaves the whole time, not moving an inch until Julian is out of the cell and the barrier is back up—safely separating them from him—but for _whose_ safety remains a matter of debate.

“We’ll be going then,” Julian says, walking towards the door, pausing only for a moment to send Garak a look when he doesn’t immediately follow him. “Goodbye, Tanin; here’s hoping we never meet again.”

Tanin sneers. “I assure you _, Julian,_ that feeling is very mutual.”

Julian turns without another word, hooking Garak’s arm with his as the tailor falls into step beside him. Garak offers the wretch one last look, one filled with promise that makes Tanin shiver very satisfactorily.

The two make their way out of the security office, and into the turbolift, disturbing the promenade as much with their exit and as they had with their entrance.

“So, my dear,” Garak says, when Julian remains silent, the turbolift humming quietly while it waits for them to decide their destination. “Your place or mine?”

Julian takes in a deep breath through his nose. “Yours. Mine is too close to the other command officers.”

“Of course, quite thoughtful of you, my dear.” Garak says, as though Julian has brought him roses instead of making a rational decision about escaping their lie with their skin intact.

Julian doesn’t reply, and the silence continues all the way back to Garak’s quarters, the dark pit in his stomach growing with each step they take.

However, as soon as the door closes behind them, Julian is tugging his arm away from Garak’s and whirling to face him—anger blazing in those wonderful brown eyes.

_“What the hell were you thinking?”_

Julian shouts the words in all but volume, careful to keep his voice quiet enough not to disturb Garak’s neighbours.

“I was thinking, my dear,” Garak returns evenly, “that if your Federation wasn’t going to uphold law and order then _someone_ ought to.”

Julian shakes his head at him incredulously. “How exactly does _murdering someone_ count as upholding _law and order_?”

“I didn’t murder anyone, my dear, you saw to that.”

“Garak, _please_ —”

“What would you like me to say, Julian?” Garak waves him away, moving over to his desk where a decanter of Kanar is sitting on his desk. “That I’m sorry? That I feel overwhelming sense of guilt over my actions and oh, how _relieved_ I am that you stopped me from indulging in such a _wicked_ action.”

“If only you meant it.” Julian says, and somehow, it’s worse than when he was shouting.

Garak pausing in pouring himself a healthy glass of Kanar. “You know, I do feel relieved about something. Now I have more time to plan an even more painful—just—way for our dear Tanin to meet his end—”

“Garak, stop.” Julian’s hands are held tightly in the shape of fists as he crosses the room and yet somehow not the distance between them. “Tanin, he wasn’t anything other than a pawn—”

A dry laugh bursts force from Garak, stilling Julian. “But that’s just it, my dear, don’t you see? Pawns are the only things I can destroy anymore.”

Julian swallows visibly, and Garak finds his eyes catching on the expanse of his throat at the movement, fingers tightening around his glass.  

“Garak,” Julian says, and his voice is soft, impossibly so, filled with the promise of a calm equilibrium that is just waiting for Garak should he decide to give in and let it catch him, “you don’t have to destroy anything.”

“But don’t you see—” and perhaps the lack of sleep over the past few days is beginning to catch up with him, because there is a more than slight hysterical edge to his voice. “I _do_.”

“ _Why_ —” Julian presses, reaching forward to gently pry the decanter away from him.

Garak throws it to the ground, where it shatters into a thousand pieces, but Julian doesn’t flinch, and Garak surges forward to clutch at Julian’s shoulders.

“Because they came for you.” He snarls, rage, burning bright and hot within him like nothing he’s ever felt before. But as he continues it begins to fade to something more akin to the wind across a glacial tundra—bone-chillingly cold and howling mournfully across a vacuous space—that makes his whole-body shake. “They saw—despite everything that I’ve done to make sure that they don’t have any reason to suspect that you could be used to manipulate me—turned into some kind of weapon or bargaining chip to be used against me—they still—”

He breaks off, words failing him, and in a rush of fatigue he places his forehead to Julian’s shoulder, turning his nose into the crook of Julian’s neck—just breathing him in and trying to remind himself that he was still here. That his skin still emitted that terribly addictive warmth, that his heart was still beating steadily, and that he wasn’t lying on a bed with his eyes lost in something only he could see—lost _somewhere_ that Garak couldn’t follow.

“Garak.” Julian says, and his hands are wrapping around Garak and pulling them closer together, holding him as though he’s moments away from disintegrating into nothing and Julian’s grip is the only thing keeping him in one piece. Or maybe it’s the other way around. “I’m alright. I’m here. They didn’t—”, Garak can feel his throat working as he struggles to produce the words. “I’m here. Garak, I’m here.”

 _This time._ Garak thinks, only he must have said it out loud, because Julian squeezes him tighter.

“I’m not going anywhere, Garak.” Julian whispers, and oh, he says it like it means something, like either of them will have any way of keeping such a promise, and Garak is caught between shaking him and—

He captures Julian’s lips with his own with all the savagery of an invading army taking a final, and ultimately doomed, last stand; slipping his tongue into his mouth and groaning aloud at the intense heat just waiting there. And it takes him an inordinate amount of time to fully register that not only has Julian not pushed him away, but that he is kissing him back just as fiercely, their tongues sliding against each other.

He pulls away with a great deal of effort, and feels heat burn low and heavy in his gut at how devastated Julian looks, his face flushed, and pupils blown, panting slightly as they both struggle to regain their breath—and the look in Julian’s eyes tells him that he’s feeling something very similar.

“This isn’t—” Garak starts. “This can’t be a one-night thing, my dear, I—” The thought alone of having Julian again, reveling in his warmth and his cries of pleasure, only to be denied it once more in the morning is debilitating; as is the thought of having to watch another have it all instead.

“Oh,” Julian breathes, and Garak can’t quite bring himself to meet his eyes, “Garak, I—”

Julian brings a hand to his face, fingers gently tracing the ridges around his eyes, the thumb of his other hand stroking his neck ridges, and Garak fights against the sudden violent urge to sob.

“I would also—yes, I would rather like that too.”

Garak’s head jerks up to meet where Julian is smiling, rather bashfully at him, and his heart suddenly feels too big for his chest. “In fact, I, well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I was—I was rather hoping—”

Julian trails off and now it’s him who can’t quite meet Garak’s eyes, clearing his throat slightly.

“I was rather hoping that you would like to, um, make a go of it with me. You know,” Julian’s face is flushed even more now, and his fingers are tapping against the side of Garak’s arms nervously, “as, um, a couple?”

Garak stares at him for a moment, and then he smiles. “I think I would rather like that as well.”

“Oh,” Julian smiles back, “good, that’s good then—”

And Garak is covering his lips with his own once again, except this time there’s slightly more protesting from Julian.

“Garak—” Julian manages, in the brief pauses for breath Garak takes, “—we shouldn’t be right now when you’re—when was the last time you slept?”

“My dear,” Garak says, struggling to keep his voice even, “much as I love you if you try and stop me from touching as much of you as I can right this instant because you think I need a nap—”

“Love me?” Julian echoes, and Garak realizes the slip up a moment too late, but he doesn’t regret it, not when it makes Julian’s eyes go wide and fills his face full of soft wonder. “You, you love me?”

“Yes, my dear,” Garak opts for nonchalance, struggling to calm the rapid beating of his heart, “I was under the impression I was making that fairly obvious.”

Julian smiles with all the brilliant blinding brightness of a desert sun and it makes Garak fall in love with him all over again.

He presses his lips against Garak’s in a soft kiss, more chaste than any they’ve ever shared, and as he pulls away, he breathes the words that Garak’s been aching for.  

“I love you, too.”

“Wonderful,” Garak remarks dryly, and Julian rolls his eyes in fond exasperation, “now if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to get that uniform of yours onto a more complimentary locale.”

Julian’s lips quirk into a smirk. “Which is?”

“My floor.”

And like that, Julian is back in his arms, pliant and warm and—oh—breathtaking—and Garak wastes no time in backing him into the bedroom, taking a moment to place him down on the sheets with a gentle tenderness—it was only a few hours ago that he was lying in the infirmary, dead to the world, and Garak can’t quite believe how much has transpired in those few hours.

Julian takes off his shirt, and Garak returns the favour to his pants, drinking in his lovely brown skin. He traces his pale fingers along the sides of his torso down to his thighs, then moving up again and dragging them across his chest and shoulders, brushing a thumb against his cheek while the other hand stoked his collarbone; breathing in the tremble that ripples through Julian as he touches everywhere except where he wants him to most.

“Garak,” Julian hisses, lifting his head up and nipping Garak’s lips before sliding his tongue into his mouth deliciously; breaking off with a moan as Garak’s fingers finally brush against his rapidly hardening dick.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Garak’s calm voice belays the euphoria trapped beneath his skin, “did you want something?”

Julian looks at him like he’s mad, “Garak, for—”, his own sharp intake of breath cuts him off as Garak grips him tightly, head lolling to the side as he lets out a whine.

“You were saying?” Garak presses and Julian shoots him a withering look before sliding his hand into Garak’s hair and giving a tug that sends a jolt of electricity down his spine.

“Touch me.” Julian commands, but it comes out as more of a beg, and Garak would need to have more restraint than any being in the universe, known or unknown, to deny him.

He strokes Julian up and down, enthralled by the way that he writhes beneath him, head tipped back, and eyes screwed shut as he breathes raggedly through it.

“Oh, my dear,” It tumbles from Garak’s lips like a prayer, and the only answer that Julian offers is a low moan, and Garak tightens his grip and quickens his pace and Julian practically keens, his entire body trembling. “Look at me, Julian.”

Julian forces his eyes open to meet Garak’s, lips parted in a perpetual moan, and with a particularly clever flick of Garak’s wrist he comes apart beneath him, hips arching as a wave of pleasure wracks his body; and he’s the most beautiful thing Garak’s ever seen.

Julian comes down from it slowly, and Garak plucks some tissues from the bedside table, cleaning both him and Julian as the doctor’s breathing slowly returns to normal. He lies down beside him after, wrapping his arms around Julian’s lazily pliant body, and tucking him against his chest.

“That was…” Julian murmurs, his voice heavy with a fatigue that Garak can feel pulling at him as well, “wonderful, thank you. I’ll be sure to return the favour…”

And the last thing that Garak registers is Julian’s breathing evening out as quiet sleep pulls them both in for the night.

* * *

“You can’t do that again.”

Garak’s heart stops in his chest, and he looks at Julian across the table, where the two of them are enjoying, for the first time in their entire association, breakfast together.

“Oh,” Julian looks horrified, his brain finally catching up with his mouth, and he scrambles to correct himself. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean—that—that was amazing, and I’d love for you to do it again—and again and—” His cheeks threaten to set on fire with the heat rising in them he clears his throat. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself as much as I did, my dear.” Garak murmurs, his heart resuming its normal rhythm. “But perhaps you could enlighten as to what it was you were referring to?”

Julian takes a sip of his Tarkalean tea, spending a moment to collect himself before speaking again. “Last night, with Tanin. Even if something like, well, like what happened with him happens again, you can’t just decide to do—” He reaches across the table to take Garak’s hand in his, leveling him a determined look. “If we’re going to do this, then I need you to promise me that if something like this happens again then you won’t go running off on your own and try to solve it without me. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.”

“There’s that Federation dogma of yours coming through again,” Garak replies dryly, but he gives Julian’s a hand a squeeze, “but I suppose some compromise is necessary in any relationship.”

“How gracious of you.” Julian returns, just as dryly, pressing his lips to Garak’s knuckles before standing up and gathering their plates.

Garak barely waits until he’s put the plates back into the replicator before returning the favour.

* * *

 

“Why is it every time I’m seeing you lately, you’re never wearing pants?”

Miles glares at Quark while Julian tries to hide a smile. “I don’t recall asking you for any fashion advice, Quark—I get enough of it already.”

“Alright,” The barkeep throws up his hands placatingly, placing their usual order in front of them, “though if that’s true you’d think you’d have developed a thicker skin about it.”

With another glower from Miles, Quark turns with a shake of his and heads to the other side of the bar.

“Aw, don’t be so down, Chief.” Julian pats him on the back. “We’ll get those Romans next time—after all, we can’t win all the time.”

“Speak for yourself.” Miles grunts into his pint glass.

“What’s wrong?” Jadzia slides into the seat next to Miles, wicked humor curling her lips into a smirk, “Julian regaling you with how much he loves Garak again?”

Julian flushes, and now he’s the one talking into his glass. “I don’t do that.”

“When you’re sober.” Jadzia makes a motion at one of the waiters, and they move behind the counter to start mixing a drink for her. “As soon as you get mildly tipsy it’s all you talk about.”

“Not _all_.” Julian protests.

Miles scoffs and Jadzia raises an eyebrow at him.

“Well, perhaps,” Julian reluctantly allows, “I do spend a majority of the time talking about it.”

Jadzia shakes her head, accepting the drink passed to her by mouthing a silent thank-you, taking a sip before speaking again. “I still can’t forget the look on Dukat’s face when Garak kissed you in front of the docking bay.”

Julian chuckles. “Neither can I.”

A figure makes their way into the bar, glancing around until they spot who they’re looking for.

“Speak of the devil.” Miles mutters.

“Good evening, Chief, Lt. Dax,” Garak greets, his eyes meeting Julian’s eyes briefly before returning his gaze for the two of them, “I hope you won’t mind if I steal the good doctor from you? We have some dinner plans to keep.”

Miles waves him off and Jadzia winks at him. “He’s all yours, Garak.”

Julian shakes his head, giving Miles a final pat on the arm before standing up, greeting Garak by placing a gentle kiss on his lips, Garak returning the gesture with a hand on his waist, thumb rubbing his side just as gently.

“Where are you two lovebirds headed to this evening?” Jadzia asks, “I heard there was a new Vulcan restaurant that opened on the promenade.”

Julian smiles as Garak links their hands together, meeting the mischievous glint in the plain, simple, tailor’s eyes with one of his own.

“Actually, I’d prefer to eat somewhere quiet.”

Garak returns the smile, his hand squeezing Julian’s hand softly.

“Whatever you want, my dear.”


End file.
